


Of Mustangs and Slow Smiles

by origincountry



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Angst, Banter, Boys In Love, Coming of Age, Crying Boys, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Expression of Vulnerabilities, Fluff, Frank discussions of contemporary events, Frank discussions of topics from the show, Friends to Lovers, Let Clay be emotional!, Love, M/M, NSFW, Nightmares, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Road Trips, Romance/Drama with a lil bit of Action thrown in, Serious situations, Summer, Tony's Mustang might as well be a character at this point, Underage Drinking, healthy relationship, self-deprecation, tender moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-01-29 12:50:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 61,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12631431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/origincountry/pseuds/origincountry
Summary: Sometimes distance is all you need. From a place; idea. From people. It’s replenishing, distance.That’s why Clay is so excited to go on a summer trip with his best friend Tony. To get away from everything that has bogged him down during the worst year of his whole life. To come to terms with things, good or bad. Maybe even enter a new stage of his life, if he has the courage.Because when did Tony become everything to him? How can he chance something more if he has nobody else?





	1. Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow I stumbled upon this pairing and I've grown to absolutely love these two. So much so that I devoured all the fics published here in under a week; I wanted more so I felt like I had to contribute! I really wanted to explore the healing process and how to overcome insecurities, so like the show this work will tackle some pretty heavy subjects but I also promise an abundance of fluff and romance. Most of the subjects are tagged in some way, but some will remain vague because I don’t want to spoil anything. There’s more information on this work and how it will be released below, but you can just skip to reading if you want!
> 
>  _Of Mustangs and Slow Smiles_ is the product of over four months hard work and as of me uploading Chapter 1 it is over 90% finished. That means I’ll be able to release a chapter a week consistently until it’s completed, so if you like it expect a chapter every Saturday around 3 p.m. U.S. Pacific time! 
> 
> The work comes at around 60,000 words and will be released in two sections. Part One is made up of Chapters 1-5; once it is completely released I’ll note the progress I've made on the remaining 10% of the overall work, and I'll determine whether or not I should wait to release Part Two. Most likely I’ll be able to immediately go forth with releasing the second part, chapters 6-9, the week after Chapter 5 comes out. But I’m just allowing myself some wiggle room here, so we’ll see!
> 
> That’s everything, I hope you enjoy! Feel free to comment, I love responding to you guys and I can always talk about the show!

**-~x/O\x~-**

 

The final bell rang, loud and abrasive.

Cheers quickly followed, filling the halls of Liberty High, and the worst school year of Clay’s life was finally over. None of his classmates paid attention to the cheery farewells Mrs. Hollows was giving, instead they were all chatting loudly and hastily leaving; one second the whole classroom was filled with noise and teenagers, the next it was empty except for Clay standing awkwardly by the homework collection bins.

“Uh, bye Mrs. Hollows.”

His no-longer teacher gave him that same look every adult now gave him, but at least she appeared pleased at having been acknowledged, which was the whole point. “Bye Clay, have a nice summer! Take care of yourself, okay?”

Clay nodded curtly and gave what he hoped passed as a pleasant smile, slowly backing out of the Honors U.S. Government & Economics classroom and into the ceaseless throng of students in the hall.

He allowed himself to blend into the cheery crowd like he usually did, excitement burbling somewhere deep in his core—a feeling he hasn’t felt for long time. Skye passed him going the opposite direction and he gave a slight wave and a brief goodbye, which she returned before being swallowed by the crowd. He saw Sheri too, exchanged goodbyes with her on the front steps of school, and that’s when it finally hit him, under the shady trees and puffy white clouds.

He was free from all of it. For  _months_.

He didn't have to think about school, trials, or tapes. Though he would always be thinking about Hannah, no matter what. Eyes wouldn’t follow him wherever he went either, nor would any whispers, and that fucking tone teachers now used whenever they talked to him wouldn't be heard at all. For a few bliss-filled months he wouldn’t be Clay Jensen, the kid who got Bryce Walker arrested and Mr. Porter fired; instead he would just be Clay, laid-back guy spending every waking moment of his vacation with his best friend.

Clay thought back to Mrs. Hollows’ words; yeah he  _would_  have a nice summer. A fucking fantastic one actually. One far away from this city and invasive reporters and surprise street interviews.

He was feeling better already.

Tony’s Mustang pulled up to the curb where Clay typically waited, his friend leaning over the stick shift to unlock the door for him. Clay shrugged his backpack off his shoulder and hopped in, tucking it between his knees before buckling up.

“Padilla.”

Tony met Clay’s eyes and cracked his usual subtle smirk. “Jensen.”

An unrestrained smile threatened to take over Clay’s face, something that only seemed to happen when he was around Tony. It didn’t help that his feeling of excitement was no longer just softly burbling under the surface but had instead completely sunken in and inundated his entire body.

Clay gave in to the feeling, allowing himself to smile. The way Tony’s eyes crinkled slightly in response was well worth it. His friend's smirk turned to a full-blown smile of its own as Tony amusedly shook his head, easing off the brake and accelerating away from the curb.

Clay watched Liberty High recede and lost himself in the rumble of Tony’s engine. Was this how Hannah felt at the end of sophomore year? Completely free?

“You ready for this trip?”

Tony’s warm eyes were filled with a different question. Clay nodded and smiled again, “Yeah, I’m already packed. Really looking forward to the complete  _au naturel_  experience.”

Tony breathed out a laugh and quirked a brow. Warmth joined the excitement in Clay’s guts. “I don’t know if staying in a cabin counts as au naturel, or whatever. Now it’d be a different story if we were going to actually  _camp_ …”

“Not going to happen Padilla, I have to ease myself into being a nature freak—I can’t just jump in with a month-long camping trip on my first try.” Clay tapped his fingers to the beat of the mixtape emanating from the speakers. Tony always had the best taste in music. “Anyway, it’d only truly be au naturel if we stayed in the forest with nothing but spears and loincloths… I don't really see my mom going for that.”

Tony laughed, turning down Main Street with an easy rotation of his palm. “You have an interesting sense of imagination, man. I’m just saying that if you really want to experience nature we should go out camping when we get there. I bet we could rent some equipment, no problem.”

“Yeah, uh, I guess we could do that.” Would they get separate tents? “I don’t really care what we do, I’m just excited to get the hell away from here.”

“You and me both…” As Tony turned onto Clay’s street Clay caught Tony’s slightly apprehensive expression in the reflection of the windshield. Weird how it all came down to his eyes and creased forehead. “Sure you can control that excitement of yours until tomorrow?”

The Mustang came to a slow stop in front of Clay’s house, the Wentworths’ kids were playing loudly in the yard across the street. “Yeah? It shouldn’t be an issue. I’ve waited this long, what’s one more night?”

“Hm, if you say so. Be ready early tomorrow, I’ll shoot you a text when I’m heading over.”

Clay gathered up his backpack and opened the car door. “Alright, sounds good. See you tomorrow.”

“See you, Clay.”

Clay took a few steps away from Tony’s Mustang, the engine idling and he could hear the music falter as Tony changed tapes. Before he second-guessed himself Clay turned around and strode up to the red muscle car, ducking his head through the rolled-down window. Tony turned to him, eyebrows high, a questioning look on his face.

“Uh, I just wanted to say thanks, for all of this… You didn’t have to agree to go on a trip with me, but you did—or agree to drive, or, uh, well everything else you’ve done for me this last year. It means a lot, so… Thanks Tony.”

Tony’s expression morphed into one of fondness and relief, his big captivating eyes kind and smile slight but more open than Clay was used to. Clay could feel his cheeks heat up, something that was happening increasingly often when he was around his best friend.

Tony’s voice was soft, “It’s no problem Clay, it’s not like you’re holding me hostage or anything—I want to go. And help you, always, like I said.”

Clay was certain his face was red now. “But still, thanks…” He averted his eyes and pulled back, “ _So_ , um, have a good night, I’ll just—“

Tony chuckled. “Yeah, goodnight Clay!”

Clay nodded and retreated from the car, bounding across his yard and up his front steps. Tony’s engine revved and Clay turned to see his car pull away, the sun glittering off the paint as it cast through the leaves of the tree-lined street.

When Clay entered his house he could still see Tony’s face, all open and handsome. It was like a ghost under his eyelids.

 

**-~o~-**

Clay was having that nightmare again. That one where he was standing there, on the other side of the guardrail. The city lights spread out beneath him like a dazzling blanket, the twilight sky shades of fading blue and orangish-pink, the colors reflecting off the Pacific just at the horizon.

It was beautiful, the view.

The wind whipped at him, his clothes nothing compared to the daggers of cold slicing through his body. His feet were planted right on the edge, loose rocks and pebbles jostling and falling over themselves down the cliff. Their sound echoing and disappearing the further down they fell.

It would be so easy, to just… To just lean forward and forget it all. To allow gravity to take hold, to claim him as he tumbled down…

He wouldn’t have to think anymore, to be responsible.

It was so tempting.

Clay realizes tears are streaming down his face, trailing down his neck, their weight constricting his breathing and strangling him. He knows he’s talking, or trying to—saying things aloud, to the sky and air, everything he should have told Hannah that night when they were both so vulnerable. All the possibilities and failed chances were uttered and flashed through his mind in that instant, before disappearing and becoming meaningless.

There was no changing reality, no matter how hard he loved or tried.

In the dream, the nightmare, he could hear Tony’s voice behind him, pleading for him not to fall, urging him away from the edge, the desperation in his voice heartbreaking and raw. He felt that tugging urge to walk away, but no matter how hard he tried Clay couldn’t listen to his friend, to the boy who had so much care to give. Instead in this reality Clay balanced on one leg, right on the edge, his other foot dangling in a half-step over nothing.

He leaned forward and was falling headfirst  _down_ , the cliffside rushing around him, trees and shrubs blurs of dusky color.

The city lights seemed infinite and shined like stars, like he was spiraling up to the heavens instead of down to earth. The lights spread apart, becoming incoherent, and the blackness between rushed in to fill their void; the tears streaming from Clay’s eyes being captured in the free-fall, little globs of anti-gravity floating around him.

One breath and the foot of the dark cliff raced up to meet him; Clay knew he had made a mistake, a horrible, grave mistake that he couldn’t ever take back. He cringed for the impact like he always did, the flash of pain followed by nothingness finally having cognitive weight on his mind.

He closed his eyes tightly, but instead of hitting the dirt at the bottom of the cliff like usual a pair of arms reached out and caught him. They wrapped around him and cradled him close, gently, their strength and firmness protecting him. A soft but deep voice was whispering against his ear, reassuring him that everything would be alright.

He couldn’t open his eyes but he knew.

Tony.

**-~o~-**

“You sure you packed your anxiety medication?”

“Yeah mom, I'm sure.”

His mother was obviously flustered. “What about your toothbrush? Did you pack enough underwear?”

Clay readjusted the strap of his duffle as it dug into his shoulder, meeting his father’s amused eyes over his mother’s head. “I think so, I made sure to get all the essentials…”

His mother took a calming breath and smiled at him, bringing him into a tight hug. He couldn’t blame her for being worried; ever since the tapes and the trial he made a point of allowing himself to get closer to his parents, and this trip was a demonstration of the renewed trust between them. They probably wouldn’t have allowed it to happen if he was going with anyone but Tony.

She pulled back but kept her hands gently gripping his shoulders. “Okay, okay. Sorry, but I have to make sure… If anything happens don’t hesitate to call us, alright? We’ll drive and pick you up ourselves if we have to.”

Clay looked down at his mom’s shoes, the lightness of excitement inside himself threatening to finally burst forth. “I know mom, it’ll be fine. I should really go, Tony’s already out front…”

His mother smiled and pulled away completely, his father’s hand moving to rest on her shoulder. Was it Clay’s imagination or did she look teary-eyed? “Alright! Go, have fun! We love you, stay safe!”

His father nodded, “Have a good time, pal. Be smart.”

“Pal? Seriously dad?” Clay let a laugh escape his mouth, taking a few steps to the front door. “Love you guys, I’ll let you know when we get to the cabin!”

He made his exit and ran down the front steps as his mother began to say her goodbyes again. Tony’s been waiting for at least ten minutes already, he couldn’t risk being held up any longer.

The hum of Tony’s engine greeted him as he flew down his front walk, the sight of the red Mustang lifting a weight off his chest. This was finally happening, after all the planning and parental convincing, it was real. Clay couldn’t stop his grin from making an appearance, it only grew as he swung open the door and dropped his duffle into the back seat.

Tony was grinning too, all wide and slightly lopsided. “Hey Clay, ready for this?”

“I don’t think I’ve been more ready for anything in my life.” Clay buckled his seatbelt and shifted so he was more comfortable. “Let’s get out of here—quickly before my mom comes out and says I forgot something.”

Tony chuckled, shifting the gear out of park. “Eager, huh? I can help with that…”

Tony shifted the car again and put two hands on the steering wheel, accelerating out his parking space and down the street. Not over the speed limit, but definitely faster than was typical for Clay’s neighborhood. Clay wondered when his smile would falter, it didn’t feel like it would ever go away.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting, you know, uh,  _parents_ …”

“It’s no problem, I thought as much.” Tony glanced at him and reached out, firmly planting a hand on Clay’s shoulder. Tony squeezed slightly, Clay felt himself begin to flush. “They’re allowed to worry, we just have to show them that they shouldn’t have to.”

Clay huffed a laugh, his cheeks were already hurting from smiling so much. “So wise, oh Unhelpful Yoda…”

Tony’s hand retreated, Clay really wanted it to stay a little longer. “So you keep telling me. What do you want to listen to first? You get to control the sound for the first hour, and we have to kick this off right.”

“Is it really in my control if I’m choosing from tapes you’ve made?”

Tony shook his head and shot Clay a smirk, “Think of it as a curatorial position… C’mon, I’m dying for some music right now.”

Clay examined Tony’s tape collection in the center console, specifically the ones he knew Tony made just for driving. He thought through the track list of each tape, having them basically memorized after all the driving they’ve done over the last few months. His fingers ghosted over the tape backs, picking one up he knew had a lot of The Black Keys on it, they were perfect for road trips.

When he popped it in Tony nodded his head. “Good choice.”

“They’re all good choices, but thanks.”

“That’s right, only the good shit for my speakers!”

Clay laughed and glanced over at Tony. Even though he was paying attention to the road Clay could tell Tony was smiling by the crinkling around his visible eye and the little upturn of his mouth in profile. It always felt nice to be around Tony when he smiled, and to  _make_  him smile, especially since he was so stoic and enigmatic around everyone else.

Clay drummed his fingers to the music on the leather lining the car door, where his arm was resting half out the window. He smiled too, watching the city pass by with unconcerned eyes.

As familiar sights came into view only to quickly disappear again it was like all the external pressure and stress that had taken hold over Clay’s life since the trial began to melt away with the music. He felt himself relax, sinking deeper into the seat, allowing himself to be loose and one with the sound. Tony was also feeling the music, nodding along as they went up an onramp onto the highway, one of his sturdy hands tapping the steering wheel along with the beat.

They had fallen into that comfortable silence which characterized their friendship so perfectly, basking in the ease and presence of the other.

It was always so easy being around Tony. For some reason his friend just got him, understood him in a way others didn’t, even as Clay vowed to become a better person and stop hiding how he felt. Tony knew what he was going through, saw Clay’s struggle, and still he was supportive and  _there_. 

Tony was always there.

Sometimes Clay felt like he didn’t deserve Tony, that he took way more than he gave back. It didn’t help that he couldn’t be as open and honest with everyone as he’d like, even if he wanted to, and as much as it pained him some things had to remain hidden even from Tony.

One thing in particular, really.

There were moments when Clay found himself wondering… Wondering if Tony knew how he felt about him. But with Clay’s new confidence, or rather, the lack of fearing embarrassment, came the ability to not turn into a blabbering mess whenever he talked to someone he had a crush on. So maybe Tony hadn’t noticed.

Or maybe Clay hadn’t changed in that regard at all, and the difference was only because this time around it was  _Tony_ who was the object of his affections. Tony, his old childhood best friend who Clay had so much history with; the only person outside his family he could even say he was close to. How Tony made him feel and react, with confidence and comfort, was so different than how Hannah had made him feel;  _still_  made him feel every now and again. There was stress over the possibility of confessing, of course, but there was none of that awkward tension between them when they talked, it was still uncomplicated. Most of the time.

There was another type of tension though, one Clay was sure he was just imagining, that permeated their conversations every once and awhile. He couldn’t recognize what it was—or maybe he was just trying his best to convince himself it was something else—but it was nothing he’d ever experienced before, it was  _different_ ….

Maybe the differences were why Clay didn’t feel guilty, didn’t feel like he was betraying Hannah.

“That’s it, we’re past the city limits now,” Tony said, leaning back and taking an easier position driving.

Clay looked around, tearing himself away from a possible dark spiral. He was supposed to be relaxing, damnit! Palm trees and vibrant green leaves stuck over the sound barriers on either side of the highway, the peaks of cookie-cutter homes making themselves known here and there. “Still not in nature though,” he observed.

“Still have hours to go.”

Clay felt a renewed giddiness, they were so close to finally escaping. “Want me to change the tape? I think I need something with a bit more energy, y’know?”

“It’s your call man, you're still the one in control.”

“That’s right… I am, aren't I?” Clay browsed the tapes again, he wondered if Tony knew he was talking about more than just music. “How about this?”

The raw notes of Sleigh Bells belted from the speakers, Clay turning up the volume. Tony and him exchanged a grin, Tony speeding up as the cars began to thin out near the edge of the suburbs. The wind shrieked through the rolled-down windows and the distorted sound of experimental music sent waves of adrenaline through Clay’s veins.

He felt energized and ready for anything, almost high but absolutely free. Like when he and Tony climbed that cliff face and shouted when they got to the top; he felt alive. So alive that he needed to scream or yell—he gave in and let out a triumphal howl and sang loudly along with the music.

Tony was wide-eyed for a second but then he laughed and followed Clay’s example, jamming out without a care in the world as the highway narrowed from eight to four lanes; as it began to wind through hills and eucalyptus trees, away from the Bay Area and out to the middle of nowhere.


	2. Cabin on the River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter, earlier than expected!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented and gave Kudos, I really appreciate it! 
> 
> Enjoy!

**-~\O/~-**

 

The sun was almost directly overhead; Clay was sure he’d be burning like an ant under a magnifying glass if it wasn’t for the shady (but eerily wilted) tree protecting their spot on the hood of the car. He knew the Central Valley was hot during a large part of the year, but it felt even hotter now with the summer sun out fresh and beaming. The almost nonexistent breeze didn’t help much either since it was dry and sandy. Still though, eating lunch on the hood of Tony’s Mustang in some abandoned parking lot on the outskirts of a tiny town, one that looked like it was ran by a cult, couldn’t get any better. Even if farmland and hazy sky were the only things he could see in any direction.

Clay leaned over in an attempt to nab a fry out of Tony’s basket only to be blocked by a swift hand wrapping around his fingers. “No you don’t. You’ve already finished all your own—these babies are  _mine_.”

“I gave you my pickles and you’re repaying me by cutting off my fry supply?”

Tony leveled him with a mildly exasperated expression, or the best equivalent Tony could manage through a pair of sunglasses, and let go of Clay’s hand. Clay hadn’t even realized their hands were still connected. “Yup.”

“Wha—!  _Fine_. But we need to go back and get some more when we leave.”

It seemed like Tony was making a point of slowly eating a fry. “Sounds like a plan. We need to pick up some milkshakes too.”

“Yeah… Wasn't that the whole reason we stopped anyway? Lunch and shakes?”

“That and I needed a break. I have no idea how we forgot the shakes though, it’s damn hot out.”

So hot that Tony had removed his leather jacket miles ago, and Clay his hoodie. “This isn’t normal, this has to be climate change in action. It’s only June and it’s already the hottest year on record.”

Tony nodded and kept eating his fries, surveying the cracked domain of their parking lot, the asphalt practically steaming under the direct sun. After Tony finished he wiped his hands and bagged their trash, gracefully hopping off the hood moments later. “C’mon Clay, let’s go get us some shakes.”

Clay smiled and slipped off the hood, scrambling into the car as Tony started the engine. Luckily the seat wasn’t scaldingly hot like Clay feared, probably due to it basking in the shade for the last 30 minutes. Tony glanced at Clay as he got comfortable, making sure he was buckled up, and since it was his turn he popped in a tape as they sped out of the parking lot.

Clay lost himself in the beat of the music, watching the creepy small town pass by on the way back to the vintage drive-thru they found earlier. “Do you think it’ll be this hot when we get up to the river?”

“Probably not. We’ll be in the shade of all those trees and the river will barely be out the back door. It’ll be hot for sure, but not like this.”

“A swim sounds so refreshing right about now,” Clay said, tugging at his T-shirt collar where sweat had begun to collect, “I seriously need to get out of these clothes.”

Clay could have swore Tony’s cheeks turned a richer shade of velvety brown. “Yeah… First thing I’m doing when we get there.”

Clay nodded, looking forward to the coolness of a slow moving river. He refused to dwell upon the image of shirtless Tony that popped into his mind, detailed tattoos and all. Instead he turned so his face received a full blast of the hot air speeding through the window. It dried his sweat, if achieving nothing else.

Tony turned down the music as they pulled up to the old streamlined diner, still cool looking even though it was half rundown and deserted in the middle of the day. It was the promise of a drive-thru that wasn’t one of the usual international fast-food chains that beckoned them originally.

The dented intercom fizzed for a second before cutting off abruptly, a bored voice replacing the mechanical noise, “Welcome to Kasper’s, home of the quadruple-stack philly cheesesteak, how may I take your order?”

“Huh…” Tony pushed up his sunglasses so he could examine the menu easier. The shake section was particularly beat-up and sun-bleached, which is probably why they missed it earlier. “I’d like a small Oreo shake and—“ He quickly glanced to Clay questioningly.

“Chocolate. Large.”

“—And a large chocolate shake. And a side of fries, please.”

The attendant repeated back their order and they pulled up to the window. After a brief exchange of money Tony was handing Clay his shake and fries, just the chill of the cup alone was refreshing.

“Thank you for your business…” The miserable attendant trailed off, sighing, someone who had to be her manager suddenly looming behind her and lightly smacking her shoulder with a clipboard. Her left eye twitched, “And have a  _Kaspertastic_  day…”

Tony paused for an awkward second, “…Thanks, have a nice day.” And they drove off, sliding out onto the interstate.

Clay let out the laugh he was holding, “Kaspertastic?!”

Tony shook his head and cracked a grin. “I’m at a true loss for words.”

Clay took a long sip of his shake, the chocolatey goodness soothing its way down his throat. “That’s way worse than the butter spiel we had to give at the Crestmont—” And there he was thinking about Hannah again, but it didn't hurt as much as it usually did. “—At least these shakes are tastier than burnt popcorn.”

Tony sucked on his straw with one hand and maneuvered the Mustang with professional ease through a slip lane with the other. “I hope that large lasts you, this is all the cold we’re gonna get until we make it to the cabin. We’re barely halfway there.”

“I think I can manage.”

“Just make sure you don't get any condensation rings on the leather. You’ll suffer the consequences if you do—and the consequences are steep.”

Clay looked at Tony with disbelief and narrowed eyes, the barely perceptible curve to Tony’s lips the only sign he wasn't completely serious. Clay rolled his eyes, “Sheesh, okay grandpa…”

“For some reason I doubt your grandpa sounds anything like me.”

Tony’s raised eyebrows shouldn’t crack Clay up like they did, but he just couldn't help himself. Tony was right—his grandpa sounded nothing like him. The slow smile crossing Tony’s face at Clay’s very  _dignified_  giggles was even better though, replacing the earlier inquisitive expression that Clay found both funny and adorable.

“What?” Tony was still smiling, looking a bit out of the loop.

Clay shook his head, “It’s nothing, you’re just… I don’t know, too much.” How could he explain to his best friend that he loved every single expression that graced his face?

He couldn’t—Clay had no idea where to begin when it came to that.

**-~o~-**

Shadows of the tall trees on either side of the winding road were long and dark, falling over the Mustang as it rumbled along. Beams of the low-hanging sun occasionally cast through the tree branches, covering Tony in a sporadic warm glow that Clay would have found tantalizingly beautiful if they both weren’t so irritated. They should have been on this road hours ago.

It wasn’t specifically either of their faults that they missed the turnoff; the road wasn’t marked well and they were both tired but ultimately enjoying the drive instead of paying attention. But lost time was still lost time.

They had stopped in Redding to get some groceries for the first week in the cabin and stretch their legs, and once they hopped back in the car and started the trek through the foothills leading to the mountains the scenery had become too welcome a distraction. Burbling brooks, colorful rocks, and freshly-scented trees were way more interesting than endless farmland and dust pits—the heat had also let up once they entered the deep wooded valleys closer to Mount Shasta. It was only once they reached the town of McArthur did Clay realize they missed their road a good 30 minutes behind them. They almost drove past it again going back the other direction.

Clay was just glad Tony wasn’t angry at him anymore, even though he  _was_  technically the navigator; and yeah, okay, it was mainly his fault, but still.

It wasn’t like angry Tony was particularly disconcerting either, Clay could only tell due to the pursing of his lips and general quiet he emanated, but Clay still felt bad every time he made Tony feel that way. He always felt like a burden when it happened, especially since the number of times Tony had made him mad in the last year could be counted on one hand. It always made him feel like a bad friend whenever it happened, and the thoughts associated with those feelings weren’t pretty. Admittedly though, Clay rarely caused Tony to get really angry (frustrated, maybe, but not  _angry_ ) and he was relieved Tony always seemed to forgive him quickly, even if Clay didn’t say anything.

But that was just like Tony, always being such a good person.

He made sure to apologize this time, profusely, so now they were pretty much quiet, allowing the music to fill the silence rather than being actively listened to. Clay had his phone up in front of him, keeping an eye out both for the mailbox described in the Airbnb receipt and on the map detailing every curve they would have to take to get there.

They were close. Glimpses of the Pit River peeked through the trees as the road meandered against the slope of the hill—only to disappear over the guardrail at every turn. Clay didn’t allow the sights to catch his eye, he was paying close attention now.

“Wait, Tony! I think that was it!” Clay twisted around to get another look at the rusted mailbox slightly obscured by undergrowth, a narrow gravel driveway just visible to its right.

The barely noticeable tension to Tony’s shoulders disappeared and he perked up, “Thanks Clay.”

Tony pulled a quick three-point turn and they were crunching over gravel in an instant, coming to a stop so Clay could make out the peeling numbers on the side of the mailbox.

Clay squinted. “Yup, the numbers match up. This is the place.”

Tony shifted in Clay’s direction, a tiny smile curling his lips, and patted Clay on the shoulder before switching gears and slowly driving the car down the sloping driveway. Clay relaxed at that smile, Tony obviously not disappointed in him anymore, if he ever was.

The trees were tight on either side of the Mustang, hemming them in. Clay craned his neck slightly out the window, the scent of earth and living matter pleasant and sweet, almost overwhelmingly refreshing. He could hear moving water too, the river getting closer. He felt oddly at peace, looking up at the towering redwoods before him, shafts of orange light warming his face and catching floating specks as they drifted through the forest.

“This place is so cool already,” Tony mentioned, carefully steering further down the driveway.

Clay nodded and kept looking out the window; the trees eventually parting to reveal a small gravel oval and a wide bend in the river, a short stone path leading down from the oval to the front door of the cabin. The cabin was right at the edge of the water, where it seemed to be flowing the slowest, hidden behind a few lone redwoods perched along a collapsing wooden fence to one side of the stone path. The cabin itself was small and had wide dark wood siding with big slate tiles covering the high roof. A few skylights pierced through the slate and alternating small windows dotted the walls, all framed by more dark wood. A chimney poked over the top of the cabin, and Clay could see the other side of the river and the forest there, along with the snow-capped tip of Mount Shasta.

Tony parked by the start of the path and they both eagerly hopped out, Clay taking a moment to look around and absorb the location. The light was stunning, the sun low and not visible, casting long rays over the forest and sparkling off the river. The aroma of nature pleasantly assaulted Clay’s nostrils, reminding him of the mulch his parents used for their backyard.

“It’s so magical here…”

Tony had his hands on his hips and he was looking around too, he turned and shot a dazzling grin Clay’s way. “Yeah, it is. Glad we finally made it!” He looked up at the mountains across the river and breathed in deeply, “Shame it’s too late to go swimming, the water looks nice.”

Clay was reaching into the back seat to grab his duffle, his smile dimming somewhat. “Sorry about getting us lost, if we got here on time we could’ve swam…”

“It’s fine Clay. It was a harmless mistake, we’re all good now.” Tony came around the Mustang with a backpack over his shoulder and a smallish duffle dangling from one hand. Clay stood up with his bag, the look of restrained excitement on Tony’s face making him smile again. He made his way over to where Tony was waiting for him and was surprised when Tony’s free hand came to rest on his lower back, warmth spreading as Tony gently nudged Clay forward. “I’m sorry for giving you the silent treatment for the last few miles there, I know it wasn’t on purpose. But now we’re here, let’s go check it out?”

Clay nodded and felt heat rise across his face. Tony was still really close, hand guiding him and making sure he didn’t fall as they walked across uneven stones. Clay wasn’t  _that_  clumsy, but the sentiment was nice. “I think the owner said the key is under that green pot next to the door.”

Sure enough it was. Tony’s hand vanished in order to retrieve it, and after figuring out how the key fit into the door they were inside. Tony’s hand found its way back to where it was before, Clay feeling too much like that’s where it always belonged. He wondered if Tony knew what his casual touches were doing to him.

The inside of the cabin was small but well laid out. A bathroom was visible through a door to the right, and the kitchen was wide open to the left, only separated from the rest of the interior by a peninsula-like bar. Directly across from the front door, stretching across the opposite side of the cabin, was the living room. It was two stories tall with large windows facing the river and mountains, a deck and short dock visible just outside. Past the bar to the left was a fireplace made of smooth river stones, a comfy looking couch facing it, and to the right there was a staircase leading to the loft above, a tiny dining table pushed underneath.

Clay separated from Tony, his hand’s absence leaving a warm imprint, and dropped his duffle on the couch. He looked around, finding the quality of light astounding as it flowed golden through the windows overlooking the river. The kitchen looked really nice too, a pink binder on the bar catching Clay’s attention, immediately being drawn to it.

“This is a pretty sweet place we found,” Tony said. He placed his bags on the floor and went over to look out at the river, then turning around to look up at the loft. “There’s some kayaks out there, I wonder if we can use them.”

“I think we can…” Clay idly flipped a laminated page in the binder and kept reading. “Yeah, it says here that they’re up for grabs. And there’s a map of hiking trails too… I guess there’s only one bed though, up there in the loft. But the couch is a foldout, any preferences?”

Tony toyed with the ring on his right hand, not responding for a second. “Nah, you decide. I’ll go bring in the groceries.”

Clay watched as Tony made a hasty exit, unsure why he left so quickly. He sighed, mentally kicking himself—he should’ve said there was only one bed. It was cheesy and probably wouldn’t have worked anyway, but having even the chance of sleeping in the same bed as Tony… No, it wouldn’t have worked even if there was only one bed. If it came down to it Tony would’ve totally insisted on sleeping on the couch. Or the floor.

“Clay.”

Also tricking someone into bed, even if it wasn’t sexual, was messed up. If he wanted to share a bed with Tony he would have to go about it the proper way and just ask—

“ _Clay_.”

“Huh?” Tony was staring at him, smiling sweetly. Clay flushed and looked down, embarrassed. “What? Need help, um, putting away groceries?”

“No, I did that while you were off in your own world.”

Clay really didn't like how red he was getting lately. “That’s a nice way of saying ‘zoned the fuck out’…”

Tony snickered, taking out a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water. “I’m always nice, I thought you knew that.” He took a sip and leaned against the bar, on the kitchen side, “Have you decided yet? Loft or couch?”

“Uh, I think I’ll take the couch. It looks pretty soft,” Clay muttered, turning another page of the binder. “And you’re always  _polite_ , but that’s different than nice.”

“There might be some truth to that, but I think being polite is kinda a prerequisite for being nice. For example; are you sure that you want the couch? I guarantee the bed is better and I did give you dibs, so…”

Clay waved him off, “No, I’m sure. Go, claim your oh-so-comfortable bed.”

Tony huffed an almost silent laugh, Clay was curious what he found so funny. He appeared to accept Clay’s demand though, grabbing his bags from the floor and heading up the stairs, each step creaking as Clay made his way over to the sliding glass door in the living room. There was a grill out on the deck along with some lounge chairs, all covered in spindly cobwebs. The sky was that deep blue color that only occurred right before the sun set, everything that odd in-between of dark and light.

“You’re going to regret your decision when you see this bed, Clay!” Tony half-shouted over the loft railing.

“Then I’m not going to see it!” Clay half-shouted back. He could almost picture Tony’s curled lips and shaking head in response; yeah that’s exactly how Tony would respond.

Clay watched as the first signs of pink and orange started to enter to sky off to the west, tinging the clouds those same colors. The snowy tip of Mount Shasta just visible over the forested ridge across the river was turning gold with the light, the clouds collecting around the peak creating a dramatic orangish billow.

“There’s a grill too?” Tony’s hand rested lightly on Clay’s lower back again, and even though Clay wasn’t exactly tense he felt his joints reflexively relax. “Would you like me to grill up some of those sausages we bought for dinner?”

Clay turned his head, getting a full view of Tony’s expectant expression. How could a face be so perfect? “Uh, you can cook?”

“Of course. You don’t?”

“No, not really… I mean I can take care of myself if I have to, but like, I can’t really make anything from scratch. I’ve watched a lot of cooking shows with my dad, so I know ingredients and stuff, and in theory how to prepare them but… I’ve never really tried?” Tony was grinning at him again, the pressure of his hand greater than before. “…Um, some sausages sound great?”

The presence of Tony’s hand vanished, but Tony bumped his shoulder against Clay’s bicep instead. His smile was now smaller but no less intense; more private, something sweet and affectionate. “I can teach you if you want, it sounds like you just need to give it a try.”

Tony’s voice was so soft, normally light brown eyes golden in the light. Just like the snow. Clay could feel the heat in his cheeks and how it spread down to his chest. “That would, uh, be—that’s really, uh, cool. Of you—of you to suggest…”

Tony frowned, concerned eyes examining Clay’s face. “Are you okay man? No need to be nervous, it’s just cooking.”

Clay scratched the back of his neck, glancing out the window before looking back at Tony. Eye contact was so hard. “I think I’m just a bit tired… From the drive and all.”

“It’s been a long day,” Tony agreed.

“Yeah…” Clay felt his cheeks settle, he was curious what Tony made of all his blushing. “But I do want to learn how to cook. And, um, it’d be cool if you taught me. Just not now—too tired to focus.”

Tony’s smile was back, but only in the sense that the skin around his eyes crinkled. “Alright. Let’s do that some other time then, for now I’ll go prep the sausages. Can you get rid of the spiderwebs and make sure the grill works?”

“Sure, no problem.”

Tony clapped Clay on the shoulder and headed to the kitchen. Even though the way Tony constantly kept in contact with him was starting to cause Clay some problems, he still loved them—the easy touches that told him Tony cared. Even if it wasn’t in a romantic way.

Clay opened the sliding door and stepped onto the deck, the woody scent of the cabin immediately replaced by the smell of water teeming with life and the earthy aroma of deck oil. It was noticeably cooler now too, the sky wholly in sunset mode with a burst of color off to the west.

There was a greasy rag hanging off the grill, Clay took it and wiped away all the spiderwebs encasing the legs and hood. He then wiped the deck chairs, afterwards hanging the rag over the railing. Clay crouched down and opened the compartment under the grill, it looked like the propane tank was properly disconnected and just had to be hooked up again. There was a chance it wouldn’t work, what with the tank having sat for so long, but Clay gave it a try and connected the tubing and opened the valve on the tank, just like his dad showed him when they used to do backyard barbecues. He stood up and flipped open the hood, examining the dials. When he determined the master burner Clay flipped it on and hoped the grill would spark to life.

It did, just as the door slid open behind him.

Tony nodded to the flames, setting the platter he was holding down on the grill’s left side tray. It was laden with sausages and a pair of tongs. “That’s one fancy grill, we should get some more meat so we can take advantage of it.”

“Yeah that’d be cool—“ Clay stopped short when he turned to see empty air where Tony was nanoseconds before. Tony could be shockingly stealthy and light on his feet when he wanted to be, even with how bulky he was getting. “Hey! Where’d you go?”

“Just getting these,” Tony said, exiting the cabin brandishing a beer in each hand. “Hope they had enough time to chill…”

Clay took the bottle Tony offered him, recognizing the brand from the mini-fridge in the Padilla’s auto shop. “How’d you get these?”

Tony opened his bottle using some trick against the edge of the grill. “I had Mateo buy some cases for us before we left. I thought you noticed when we put the groceries in the trunk?”

“Obviously not, it’s cool though… I thought we’d be dry this whole trip.” Clay stood there with the lukewarm bottle weeping condensation in his hand, unsure what to do. They usually had a bottle opener in the shop office for when they occasionally drank back home.

Tony took a swig, his Adam’s apple bobbing distractingly, “I don’t think it’d be a vacation in the forest if we couldn’t indulge a little whenever we wanted.” Tony smiled in Clay’s direction and noticed his problem, taking Clay’s bottle and repeating the trick to open it.

“Thanks!” Clay took a small sip, when he drank he liked to keep it slow. Tony and him were pretty similar in that way. “This was a nice surprise.”

“That’s what I was aiming for,” Tony said, gesturing with his beer to mountains across the river. “What’s better than a cold beer, good company, and an amazing view?”

“…Okay, now you seriously sound like my grandpa.”

Tony laughed, brief but musical, and smirked. He picked up the tongs with his free hand and began to place the sausages on the grill. “It’s the simple pleasures, Clay. Take a cue from your grandpa and learn to enjoy them.”

Clay rolled his eyes and settled down into one of the lounge chairs, stretching out to find maximum comfort. “Yeah… Guess I should try. Not like your advice has led me astray before.”

Tony did a little shake of his head that told Clay he was silently laughing; his warm eyes glancing Clay’s way before focusing back on the grill, taking another swig. Clay could see the happiness practically radiate off his friend and thought it suited him nicely. Tony was someone who was wound pretty tight most of the time, when they were at school or around other people. Just like Clay—though Tony passed it off as ‘uninterested cool’ while Clay could only manage ‘socially inept’.

It pleased him greatly that he was the one Tony allowed to see through the layers he put up for everyone else, even his past boyfriends. Even though Clay couldn’t find it in himself to confess his feelings to Tony, not yet at least, he knew that Tony was closer to him than anyone else. Clay allowed him through his own layers too.

The smell of applewood smoked chicken sausages wafted around them, Clay taking little sips of his beer as the sky turned from orange and pink to deep violet and blue. They exchanged sarcastic jokes, the beer creating that numbness in Clay’s mind that he craved every now and then, Tony’s laughs and quips making Clay all tingly in an inexplicable way. He could hear nocturnal life awake around them in the forest, and Clay felt himself awaken too, allowing himself to let go.

At least for this moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, please feel free to comment! I love hearing my readers' thoughts!
> 
> Next week will be Chapter 3!
> 
> Just a heads up, from here on out the chapters will get progressively longer for the most part. I hope that's not a issue for anyone. I also hope it was obvious that Tony wasn't really mad at Clay, and hopefully it was clear that Clay has it _bad_.


	3. Current

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, Chapter 3, hot off the presses! Thanks for all the amazing feedback; enjoy!

**-~\O/~-**

 

This was another familiar dream.

Clay is behind the concessions counter at the Crestmont cleaning the soda machine when he hears a tiny noise, fabric ruffling as something was deposited on the counter. He turns to see a pile of clothing. Hannah’s Crestmont uniform. She’s halfway to the door when he looks up after a confused second, the brightness of the light cutting through the glass front of the theater unnatural and harsh.

He has to squint to even make her out, and she’s farther away every second.

She hadn’t said anything to him, hadn’t said goodbye, she just left the uniform there in a pile and turned to leave. He didn’t know that the back of her retreating form would be the last time he’d ever see her. And he was still feeling crushingly rejected and horribly frustrated with her, to the point where he couldn’t say anything even though he wanted to.

That was his mistake. His fault.

This time he had the chance to change that, he knew what she was planning to do after she disappeared into that jarringly bright light. He has to stop it.

He shouts her name, soundless to his ears, but still she stops halfway through the door. Her scarf is dangling, swaying back and forth as she stands frozen like a mannequin. Clay jumps over the counter and tries to run to her, to grab her and do  _something_ , but he can’t move. He looks down and sees his shoes sinking into the red carpet, the floor rolling over the tops of his converse, clinging to him.

Clay shouts again, but this time from shock and fear. Hannah is still standing by the door, her back turned, unmoving. He forces his foot forward, using all his strength, his shoe cutting through the gelatinous carpet. Long red gashes are left behind him, getting deeper and deeper as he sinks further into the floor, leaving a trail of velvety gore.

It’s now up to his shins.

He’s yelling at Hannah, seemingly getting closer to her but she’s still so impossibly far. But then be realizes that there’s no progress, she’s exactly the same distance away as before he jumped over the counter. And Clay is begging her for help, telling her that he can’t help her if she doesn't  _say_  something to him. He can’t be there for her if he’s kept in the dark—that he needs her help freeing himself from the floor swallowing him up. The carpet is starting to look a lot like congealed blood, now, turning brown and thick as it hits his knees.

There’s iron in the air, he can smell it. Taste it.

He looks up at her back, Hannah now taller than him since she isn’t falling through the floor, and he sees the blood. It’s everywhere. It’s pouring from her wrists down to the floor, a revolting waterfall merging with what used to be the carpet, joining into one. He’s sinking into it, the whole floor just an extension of Hannah, an insurmountable distance he can’t cross. That he will never cross.

Clay begins to cry then, breaking down, as what always happens. It always hits him, that he can’t save her. It’s too late. He's a coward that couldn't tell her she mattered to him when he had the chance, that the world would be a horrible place without her in it. That he’s always loved her, from the moment they met right there in the lobby he was sinking through.

She’s still there, bleeding, frozen between inside and out, the white light destroying the edge between her and the surrounding world. Nothing he pleads makes her turn and look at him, nothing he does can change what happened.

She’s gone, and the world falls out beneath him.

He's consumed by the blood carpet, sinks through it completely and is met with momentary blackness.

Bliss.

He knows he’s falling, wind whipping at his uniform, bowtie ripping away from his neck. The lights greet him, spread out over the far-off ground, moving dots of color and life. It’s the cliff he’s falling down, the rocky crag blurry as the world refocuses, the lights morphing into the city.

Clay sees him down there, at the base, arms stretched out, waiting to catch him.

He sees the look of understanding on his face.

Why was it always Tony?

**-~o~-**

Clay could see the blue sky perfectly through the skylight. The color contrasting beautifully with the wood slats that make up the ceiling, which were in shadow compared to the brightness of the sky. He watched as clouds slowly meander across the skylight, like some constantly moving painting or screen, slightly mesmerized. The skylight was lined up exactly with the center of his vision, the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes, and now he didn't want to look away.

Clay blinked his eyes groggily and kept staring at the sky, snuggling deeper into the comforter Tony had found in the closet by the bathroom. The foldout was surprisingly comfortable and soft, Clay didn’t want to move—it always took a few minutes for him to properly wake up anyway.

He slept pretty well, despite everything.

The dreams, or nightmares—they bled together nowadays—were a regular occurrence for Clay ever since he started listening to the tapes. That meant he’s been dreaming about Hannah Baker and death for closer to a year than not, and now he was used to them. There was a time when they’d keep him up at night, afraid of what he’d see when he closed his eyes, but the dreams didn't matter to him as much anymore. He already knew what his brain was trying to tell him.

There was no definitive explanation for why people dream, though the most popular scientific theory was that dreams were essential for helping store and filter memories and experiences. With this view, which his therapist supplied, Clay began to see his dreams as a sort of internal processing system for all the guilt and emotions he felt (and let’s be honest, was  _still_  feeling) in the wake of Hannah’s death and the following trial. But just because they were helping him process didn't mean they were revealing unknown truths about himself or whatever; no, those truths were already known.

He was trying his best to change.

It was only after the trial did Tony start appearing in his dreams, almost regularly, which made sense seeing as how that’s when they started getting really close. And that was when Tony made it clear that he'd be there for him no matter what. When Clay looked back through the dream journal his therapist had insisted him keep, which he did the night before the drive up to the cabin, it was starting to become obvious that the flavor of his dreams was rapidly changing. He could draw the connections, but acting upon what he knew he was feeling was a completely different story.

If there was one thing his dreams/nightmares taught him, it was that he shouldn't get hung up over something he couldn’t change, and changing yourself to be more confident and less anxious was not something that could happen on an overnight whim.

Even if he was trying. Hard.

A big puffy cloud wandered across the skylight, making it mostly grey.

It was time to get up.

Clay blinked again, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He was becoming aware of an absolutely delicious smell; simmering meat and pungent sweet onions, along with something herbal and fresh. Sound followed next; the wavering warble of flame and the scraping of metal against metal, the movement of a pan. And a soft humming too, soft but deep.

Clay propped himself up from the foldout, comforter crumpling down to rest around his bare midsection. The chill of air was actually nice after being cozy for so long. He scratched the inside of his thigh and looked to the kitchen, where he imagined Tony was making breakfast.

There was some steam coming from around the area of the stovetop, but he couldn’t make out what Tony was cooking. Instead he was treated to the perfect sight of Tony’s gorgeous shoulders and back, barely covered by the loose tank top he was wearing. Clay loved those shoulders, their broadness and obvious strength fueling many a fantasy. He could only imagine what they would feel like under his fingers, if he was clutching onto them for dear life while Tony just— Clay bet his shoulders were soft, Tony’s skin looked soft, except for his hands. They were rougher. Clay wondered what  _they’d_  feel like against his bare skin, stroking…

Clay flushed, his morning wood not being helped by the thoughts he was having. It wasn’t right to have such vivid fantasies about your best friend, right? If Tony knew— What  _would_  Tony do if he knew? It wasn’t like he’d want to be with him just because Clay admitted to his crush—as if that word could even begin to describe the depth of how Tony made him feel in the first place. And even if he could somehow convey what he felt it didn’t guarantee anything. Just because Tony was gay and single didn’t mean he’d automatically jump at the chance to be with him, especially since Clay’s looks weren’t exactly something to call home about, at least in his opinion. And a situation where Tony learned of his feelings would never happen in the first place. Hell, Clay couldn’t even admit to his out gay friend that he was bi, if he couldn’t do _that_ …

Though Clay sometimes thought Tony somehow knew already, got this sense from some of the knowing smiles and looks they shared. He didn’t understand it, at all, the way Tony looked at him. Like… Like he felt the same way.

What would it feel like to be with Tony? To know that he shared his feelings?

Clay shook his head. God he was pathetic.

He watched as Tony moved back and forth, humming something Clay couldn’t make out, the righthand strap of Tony’s tank top doing nothing to hide the edges of the orchids decorating his shoulder. Clay’s eyes moved from the visible tattoo to the back of Tony’s head, where his hair was obviously messy and adorably fluffy—a look that Clay coveted from the rare ‘proper’ sleepover. His hair looked so soft, the perfect opposite of the sleek togetherness that it normally was, the short hairs at the nape of Tony’s neck begging for Clay’s fingers. Tony’s head turned a bit to the side then and Clay could see his noble chin, tongue sticking out slightly as he stirred a pan, the cluster of small blue stars behind Tony’s left ear vibrant against the tawny warmth of his skin.

God he was beautiful; for a second Clay felt this sort of delicate fluttering thrum slowly radiate through his body in waves. He scrubbed his face with his hands, the movement creaking the foldout couch.

“Mornin’ Clay, good to see you up.”

Clay’s head shot up. Tony was leaning against the kitchen side of the bar, tank top hanging limply over his chest—allowing Clay to see the entire expanse of his solid torso—wavy hair falling into his eyes, joining a bright but reserved smile dimpling his cheeks. 

Fuck.

“You sleep well? I have breakfast going.”

“Uh, yeah—“ Clay scrambled. Without getting up he yanked a shirt out of his duffle, pulling it over his head to quickly cover the splotchy redness taking over his chest. “—There any coffee?”

“I made some when I got up, should still be warm. I’ll get you a cup.”

Tony retreated from the bar, turning around to get a mug from the cabinet. Clay took the opportunity to flip his erection up under the waistband of his boxers, luckily he was softening pretty quickly, and hopped off the foldout. He positioned himself so his body could hide his crotch while he dug around in his duffel for his flannel house pants, just in case Tony looked over.

He desperately needed a few seconds to recover control over his breathing.

Clay pulled up his house pants and tied them. He turned to see Tony quickly swivel his head away, focusing on the stovetop. A mug of coffee was sitting right by the binder on the bar. He walked over and sat on the barstool, sipping the mug.

Black, no sugar. Just how he liked it. Instant relaxation.

“Thanks for the coffee,” Clay took another sip, “how long have you been up?”

Tony paused his stirring, making brief eye contact. “Maybe an hour, no more than an hour and a half. I started breakfast barely 20 minutes ago though, it’s almost ready.”

Tony’s tank top had huge armholes, basically going from his shoulder to right above his love handles. That was a lot of skin to take in. “Oh, uh, you could’ve woken me up. You still need to teach me how to cook and I would’ve liked to help…”

Tony smiled at him before refocusing on the pan. It smelled amazing. “You looked like you needed your sleep. And besides, it’s just breakfast. We’ll have plenty more meals where I can teach you, don’t stress it.”

“True, but I don’t want you relinquished to head chef all the time, makes me feel weird.” Tony chuckled which made Clay smile, “You need to chill too… But I won’t push it anymore if everything you make smells that amazing. What  _are_  you making?”

“A simple leftover sausage and salsa scramble.” Tony glanced up through his fringe before looking back down to the pan. “This has some of that watery pico de gallo we bought yesterday, which should be fine even if the ingredients aren’t that good, and cut-up reheated sausages, eggs… Some fresh onions, and, oh, I noticed that the stuff growing in that green pot is actually cilantro. So there’s plenty of that… It’s pretty basic but should be tasty.”

Clay noticed that Tony was only wearing his boxers, the tank top, and nothing else. His underwear was purple and barely came to the middle of his thigh. “Uh, it  _sounds_  tasty… And it’s almost done?”

Clay never thought he’d find hair on stocky legs so tantalizing.

“It’s done now, I was drawing it out to see how long it’d take you to get up.”

Tony kept his back to Clay as he plated the food on the counter next to the stove, dividing the pan equally with a spatula. Clay tried not to watch the way the limp fabric of Tony’s boxers hugged and relaxed over his shapely butt every time he shifted slightly. Or the way Tony’s bicep bunched up under the tattoos on his arm. It was hard not to become flustered, since this was probably the most undressed Tony has ever been around him. Changing after gym didn’t count, Clay always averted eyes when undressing in the locker room, especially from Tony.

Tony placed the pan in the sink and brought the plates over to the bar, setting one in front of Clay and the other by the second barstool.

“Thanks, I’m actually really hungry.” Clay dug in, it was delicious. The eggs tasted way better than his mom’s—something he would never admit aloud.

“It’s nothing,” Tony said, bumping shoulders with Clay once he sat down next to him. Clay could see him smile in his peripheral vision. “You can repay me by waking up early and making me breakfast—if you were serious about feeling weird.”

Clay swallowed and nodded. “I am! Maybe we should start the cooking lessons with breakfast foods so I can repay you sooner rather than later.”

Tony turned his head and examined Clay, determining something. Clay raised an eyebrow and Tony smiled, the way where it was mostly just his eyes. “Alright Clay, let’s do that.”

Clay smiled at him, going back in for a few more bites. Tony ate some of his food before pausing, his elbow resting on the bar while his fork hovered over his plate. “I wish we had some other salsa, this needs more heat.”

“You always like things hotter, this is already really good!”

Tony shifted so he was halfway facing Clay’s direction, poking at his food before taking another bite. “So you’re saying you wouldn't put hot sauce on this if you could?”

Clay tasted the food again, it was really flavorful but not particularly spicy. Clay looked at Tony slyly, was he fishing for compliments? “Hm, maybe… I guess I'm not one for spicy breakfasts. I like savory and sweet—and this is definitely savory. But some Cholula might make it even better. That’s basically the spiciest thing in my kitchen, even though it’s barely anything—“

Tony laughed, hearty and deep. He closed his eyes for a second, clasping his hands together. Clay found himself smiling without knowing why. “—What’s so funny?”

Tony shot him a grin and took a quick bite. “It’s nothing, you’re just funny sometimes and you don't realize it.” He must have seen the heat Clay felt rising on his cheeks because he added, “Don’t worry, it’s a good thing.”

“If you say so.” Clay still felt a little embarrassed, but also oddly pleased. “…We can go get some hotter salsa though, since you need it so badly. We need more meat for the grill too, right?”

“It’s fine, I’ll live.” Tony ate some more, Clay deciding it was a good time to do the same. “We have plenty to last us a few days anyway, and besides, I thought we could do something else today.”

Clay looked up from his plate, his food falling from his fork, “Oh? What do you have in mind?”

Tony rolled his eyes, though he seemed amused. “We couldn't go swimming yesterday so I thought maybe today we could give it a shot.”

Clay nodded vigorously, “I like that idea. Way better than grocery shopping.”

“More refreshing too, it’s already hot and it’s not even noon.”

Clay looked over his shoulder, out the windows overlooking the river. It was bright out, sun glaring off the water. Now that Clay thought about it the cabin was beginning to feel rather stuffy. Focusing on the heat was a good way to keep other things at bay, like the realization that he’ll be seeing Tony completely shirtless sometime really soon. “It, um,  _looks_  hot.” Clay turned to see Tony quickly look away, down to his plate. “…Wanna swim after we finish breakfast?”

Tony had taken a bite of food right when he looked away, so he swallowed, “After we finish digesting, but yeah, that’s the idea.”

Clay nodded, eating more of his breakfast. “Good… Sounds good.”

**-~o~-**

The river was ridiculously cold, Clay desperately tread water in an attempt to adapt and warm himself up. Tony appeared to be doing something similar, but only for a moment. He dunked his head and swam away from Clay towards a fallen tree half submerged in the river. Clay decided to go the opposite direction, upstream to examine the makeshift stone jetty that slowed down the water to a swimmable speed.

He kicked his legs and moved his arms, testing what he remembered from all those years ago. When he was in middle school he was a junior lifeguard at the neighborhood pool, but he hasn’t swam much since entering high school. The strokes came back to him easily enough, he was a little shaky in the beginning but the more he swam the less unusual it felt. He remembered being faster, maybe he was slower because he was swimming upstream, but he managed to get to the jetty in a minute or two.

The shore was mostly made up of worn and rounded river stones, all varying shades of blueish-grey that shone white under the sun. The jetty, or perhaps it was best described as an incomplete dam, was made from the same type of stones. They were stacked and layered out from the shore, stretching maybe a third of the distance across the river, and evidently they were only held together by gravity and friction. It wasn’t blocking the flow of water completely either, the river easily rushed through the spaces between the stones, but the water was much calmer on Clay’s side of the wall.

Clay drifted with the current a bit as he examined the structure, having to occasionally swim forward to stay in the same place.

There were sections of the jetty-wall-thingy where it was thicker, more stones piled atop others, and Clay realized that other visitors and swimmers must add onto it whenever they came. Otherwise the structure would most likely have washed away a long time ago. And though the river current didn’t look that strong near the opposite shore, it was certainly faster and more dangerous than where Clay was treading water.

He decided that he should add some stones too.

Clay repositioned himself so he could see back downstream, to make sure Tony was alright before he started diving to find suitable rocks. He felt a tinge of panic when he couldn’t see Tony by the fallen tree, but then Clay saw a head of slick black hair pop up near a prominent boulder off to the left. Tony didn’t look to be struggling, and as his head disappeared back under the water Clay decided he must be diving for something as well. No need to worry.

The water was actually mostly clear, unlike what Clay had expected. It was murkier where the current was slower, but Clay could make out the shapes of stones and the occasional degraded branch on the bottom of the river with ease. He dunked his head and opened his eyes to make sure the dark lump he saw was truly the perfect rock, allowing himself to sink down to grab it. When he resurfaced with a flat stone around the size of his face he looked at the jetty, determining where the water flowing through was the strongest, and wedged the stone into a prominent crevice to negate the flow.

It worked well enough, and Clay repeated the process a few more times before he was interrupted.

“Clay!”

Clay maneuvered so he was sitting on a biggish boulder, watching as Tony slowly swam his way. He was only using one hand. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it’s all good…” Tony stopped close to Clay, his face open with excitement, “Look what I found!”

The hand Tony hadn’t used to swim breached the surface of the water, holding what Clay determined to be a super rusted and warped hubcap.

“Wow!” Clay reached forward and Tony readily handed over his find. The hubcap was dented and slightly twisted, specks of the original chrome surface rare amongst all the rust. Along one edge it was deteriorated and jagged, where the rust and river had eaten away at the metal. “This is so cool, it looks really old.”

Tony grinned. “Definitely. There’s no emblem but I think it’s off a car from the 1950’s, or maybe even the 40’s. Cars haven’t had this type of hubcap since around the time our parents were born, but they weren’t super common then either.”

Clay looked back at the hubcap, it was most likely older than his parents. “That’s fucking crazy if it’s that old. How do you think it wound up in the river?”

Tony took the hubcap and sat on a submerged rock next to Clay. “Probably a car accident, years ago based on the amount of rust.”

“Oh… That makes sense, but it kinda ruins the coolness since someone probably got hurt.”

A small smile curled Tony’s lips, he glanced at Clay before setting his discovery on a rock by the shore. “True, but I think I’m going to bring it back with us, as a memento or something.” Tony then looked at Clay, then over Clay’s shoulder at the rocks behind him. His longish black hair was drying quickly, plastering against his scalp. “What’ve you been up to Clay?”

“Oh, you know, the  _youzhe_ : stacking rocks and laying stones.” Clay heard Tony chuckle quietly as he pointed out all the stones he added to the jetty. “I’m trying to reinforce this dam-thingy… I honestly have no idea what to call it.”

“Clay and his stones…” Tony laughed again, Clay found himself smiling. So far this trip he’s smiled more than all last winter combined.

“Is that a crack on my name?”

“Maybe. Is ‘Unhelpful Yoda’ a crack on my height?”

“…No.”

“Ha!” Tony pointed at him, grinning, before reaching over and picking up the hubcap again. “I heard that hesitation, don’t think this is finished stone-boy!”

Tony then pushed off from the shore and began swimming in the direction of the dock, Clay admiring the way the muscles of his back moved just under the water. “Hey, if this isn’t finished then where are you going?!” Clay shouted. He knew Tony couldn't hear him, but he too pushed off the shore and followed him anyway.

It was easy to keep up with Tony, since he wasn’t the one swimming with a hubcap and all, and Tony must’ve noticed him on his tail because he started kicking harder. Clay felt like he somehow unwittingly entered a race, one that Tony won, but only barely. Tony grabbed onto the ladder bolted to the side of the dock and came up for air, hoisting himself out of the water a rung at a time.

“What’re you doing?’

“Making sure this is safe.” Tony indicated the hubcap, looking over his shoulder with what was undoubtedly mischief in his eyes.

Clay swam in place and did his best to ignore his confusion, instead stealing glances as Tony’s back came more into view. Rich, smooth brown skin greeted him, dripping with water, only to be followed by a perfect view of Tony’s pert butt, the waterlogged material of his swim trunks clinging to every curve.

Maybe Clay’s blush could be attributed to the merciless sun beating down on him; yeah, that seemed like a good excuse.

“…From what?” Clay sputtered out.

Tony reached the top of the ladder and placed the hubcap on the edge of the dock, afterwards turning around in place so he was hanging out over the water. For a wonderful second Clay got an eyeful of Tony; every colorful tattoo embellishing his torso, the hint of dark chest hair curling between his soft pecs, his sparse treasure-trail leading down to tight curls peeking above his low-slung trunks, and of course the prominent bulge of his crotch. The sight was then suddenly over, interrupted by a loud, “From this!” With that declaration Tony launched off the ladder and curled into a ball right before hitting the water.

Clay was immediately swamped, getting a direct hit from Tony’s splash. He heard Tony laugh as he wiped water from his eyes and blinked. The bastard was grinning not three feet away from him. “You really want to do this, Padilla?”

The quick response Clay got was another face full of water.

“What do you think, Jensen?”

Clay lunged towards Tony, “Oh, it’s so  _on_!”

Clay splashed Tony, for a moment imagining that he was a member of the Water Tribe. Tony was hit directly, sputtering, pushing his hair from his eyes with a smile on his face. Clay was smiling too, which was a mistake since the next splash got water in his mouth.

Tony was laughing and looking more free and happy than Clay had ever seen him before. Seeing that made Clay feel lighter and giddy, dodging a few splashes and getting Tony square in the face a few times. Tony was no doubt giving it his all, their jeering conversation lost between bouts of water and narrow avoidance maneuvers. Clay found himself strategically retreating against Tony’s renewed onslaught, getting closer and closer to one of the piers of the dock.

Clay was getting splashed heavily, to the point where he couldn’t retaliate, but he still found himself laughing and smiling—even as his back hit the worn wood of the dock. Tony was right  _there_ , Clay could feel him moving in the water, and then he was in Clay’s space, the warmth of Tony’s skin pressed against his chest. The splashes gave way to tickles, Tony’s fingers dancing up and down Clay’s sides; how could he remember all his ticklish spots from when they were kids?

Clay giggled heavily, Tony pressing his body against him, firm and strong. He was lost in the touch, even with the water dulling the direct slide of skin against skin he felt his chest and cheeks heat up to scary heights—he was getting a little hard. Clay didn’t want Tony to stop, his arms finding their way around Tony’s neck and dragging him even closer. It felt so good to be touched, even if he was laughing uncontrollably. And then there was the hot puffs of Tony’s breathy laugh hitting his face every few moments, as if Clay needed to be reminded that Tony was tight against him. He just hoped that his filling erection wasn’t obvious.

The tickles suddenly stopped, the roughness of Tony’s hands coming to rest slightly above Clay’s hips. The two hot points of contact made Clay open his eyes and blink, his laugh withering and dying on his lips. Tony was flushed, strands of his hair merging with his worried eyebrows, his big watery brown eyes were wide and staring. They darted down to Clay’s mouth and then back up to meet him head on, filled with questions and hesitation—fear. Clay had never seen Tony look so nervous before, his flushed cheeks getting darker and pouty pink lips barely parted, begging to be kissed.

Clay hesitated, staring at Tony’s kissable lips, not sure if Tony truly wanted him or if he was just caught up in the moment. He ignored his worry, trying not to be a coward, and decided to lean in with the hope that Tony would kiss him back. But before Clay could even crane his neck, Tony’s hands vanished and he backed up, treading water a few feet away.

“I… I’m sorry, I—I think you win this time…” Tony couldn't meet his eyes.

“…What?”

Tony was already climbing up the ladder, his face obviously flushed, and disappeared down the dock. Clay didn’t know what happened, he was left feeling dumbfounded and horribly empty.

Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the angst begins. Situations can shift pretty quickly, right?
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, there's so much more to come! As always, feel free to leave any comments. Positive or negative, I love responding to everything, and I can always answer questions, but don't expect any spoilers!
> 
> See ya'll next week, Chapter 4 incoming!


	4. In Starlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new week, a new chapter! Before reading this chapter please make sure you're acquainted with the tags, it's hard warning people without giving anything away!

**-~\O/~-**

 

The hot water warmed Clay’s skin, washing away the unique stink of the river. He watched as it spiraled down the drain, a hollow sucking noise welcoming the water, bubbles of soap floating across the surface. Clay closed his eyes and cupped his face in his hands, letting the water wash right over him, hoping that maybe it’d wash him away too.

Tony was gone.

After climbing up the ladder and following Tony’s wet footprints into the cabin Clay couldn’t find any sign of him. He ran up the stairs to the loft and looked around up there, looked in the bathroom and closets, but he wasn’t anywhere to be found. Clay barged through the front door and bolted up the stone path; the sight of the red Mustang still parked there, silent and empty, relieved his worries for a second—before they suddenly got worse.

If his car was still there then where was Tony?

Clay shouted into the forest, calling Tony’s name, but there wasn’t a response. He had vanished.

The panic that Clay felt then was almost better than the dull emptiness he felt now, in the shower. Tony could take care of himself, he was always so responsible and careful, always playing the role of sensible adult around the people they knew at school. It wasn’t like him to run away from something, the fact he  _did_  made Clay feel horrible. Because this was his fault, it was always his fault.

The hesitant and frightened look on Tony’s face when they were tangled up against the dock was seared into Clay’s head. He sees it now, the panic that was hidden there. Tony was someone who respected people’s boundaries and desires as long as they weren’t self-destructive or downright stupid, and what they were so close to doing—that almost kiss… It’s possible Tony thought he crossed a line that wasn’t actually there. If only Clay was faster, if he leaned in quicker… It was so fucking plain to see now, looking back.

The tension Clay wrote off as nonexistent or one-sided, something only he could feel, was evidently mutual. It had been growing and getting thicker ever since the start of Spring Break, when they came up with the idea for this trip, and Clay had ignored it, pretended that it wasn’t there. There was no way Tony could like him back, feel what he felt, something distinctly more than merely  _liking_ someone. And now his denial of what he felt, the inability to express it to the person who mattered the most, had pushed someone else away. Maybe even for good.

Clay whimpered, hanging his head, the water flowing down around him, dripping off his hair like a shield of rain. He knew it wasn’t just shower water hitting the bottom of the fiberglass stall. He gritted his teeth in an attempt to stop his tears; he didn't deserve them, he brought this upon himself. Sometimes he just hated himself so fucking much, for doing stupid shit like this. For not paying attention to those around him, letting their connections wither away… And he thought he was getting better too, becoming an actually decent person.

Clay shook his head, a pained sigh escaping his lips. He was such a big fucking joke. If he could punch himself in the face, he would. If he could make himself feel the true consequences of his actions, maybe…

He thought he’d been paying attention to the people around him, aware of what they were feeling so he could be there for them. Because everyone deserved understanding and a friendly face, especially since life was so cruel and unforgiving. But he failed, Hannah’s death—Hannah’s  _suicide_ doing nothing to actually make him change. How could he fail her so miserably, how could he just…

The signs were there the whole time, all the touches and quickly averted looks. The beautiful expressions on Tony’s face, the expressions that he never saw given to anyone but him. He cherished those looks, the sweet downturn of brown eyes, the crinkling of gorgeous skin… The complete willingness to be there for him, the unquestioning loyalty Clay knew he didn’t deserve. How could he ever think that Tony didn’t like him, didn’t feel anything remotely like what he felt?

It was obvious in every pat on the back, the quick squeezes of a shoulder, the gentle shoulder bumps of acknowledgement when Tony stood by his side between classes. The hugs filled with sad understanding when Clay was coming undone at the seams, after the trial and before; the slow smiles shot his way when he got into the Mustang after school… He was so blind to it all, writing off those actions and never acting, taking but never giving back. Only now with Tony gone could he see… He couldn't afford to be a coward any longer. He’s hurt another person.

Clay found himself crouched down on the bottom of the shower, almost hyperventilating, trying his best to get his breathing under control. His hands were fisting his hair, the pinpoints of tension and pain across his scalp grounding him to the slippery stall. Every breath felt like fire, sharp and unwelcome, but they were easing. The panic ebbed and flowed through his body but it was going away with every painfully slow breath.

He was here, and it wasn’t too late.

Clay would have to wait for Tony to return, because Tony  _would_  return. And when Clay saw him he’d tell him everything, confess his feelings. Tell him that he wanted him, that he loved him.

Because it was love, what Clay felt. No denying it now.

And now he was certain that Tony loved him back.

…God, he  _hoped_  Tony loved him back.

**-~o~-**

This was a construction, a falsity. Clay knew that for certain. He knew it was a dream, and it was just like every dream he had since the tapes: a nightmare. But this one was different.

He never saw them when they took the stand, witnesses weren’t allowed to, according to his mother. But it was like he was there in the front row of the courtroom, right behind the prosecutor's desk. The bench was hard and real against his back, but the judge was faceless and grey, everything was grey and colorless. Completely hollow.

Only  _they_  were in focus, in full vivid reality.

They appeared in the order of the tapes. Mostly.

Justin was first which really illustrated how unreal everything was; he was still missing, unheard of for months. His lips were pursed and face impassive, though his bruised eyes were filled with guilt and remorse. Next was Jessica, stoic and strong, silent tears glittering her cheeks as she stuttered out her perspective and story, as she heard her tape played aloud to the courtroom. Alex was there too, not barely alive in a hospital bed, his bandaged head speaking volumes where he couldn’t—about the blame he accepted. Then Tyler was sitting there, oddly smug and self-assured. He looked unfazed by the accusations on his tape, accepting them totally when questioned. Like he was untouchable. Courtney was an absolute mess, blubbering and sniffing as tears cascaded endlessly down, eyes not meeting anyone. It was probably the most honest Clay had ever seen her, utterly ashamed and apologetic, completely devastated. Marcus sat down, silent and still, as poised as ever. But he seemed to realize that lying wasn’t going to do him any good. Especially when he had a sudden visible reaction to his tape, eyes staring down at the colorless wood in front of him, his shoulders deflating by degrees as Hannah’s voice described what happened. It’s Zach who surprises Clay the most; he’s raw and desperate for understanding, almost pleading with his honesty. He’s so ashamed and it’s obviously been eating him from the inside, this moment the time it all spills out. Ryan is confident but appropriately apologetic, not deflecting the blame but insisting that what he did wasn’t that significant in the scheme of things, considering the much worse stuff that happened. Then it’s Sheri’s turn, instead of Justin. She’s silent for the most part as her tape plays, but she answers questions willingly and without much hesitation when it ends. Her eyes are deep with sadness, a few tears trickling over when Jeff is brought up, her mouth contorting as she holds it all back to stay composed. It was hard to not feel bad for her, Clay knew she was really trying to make amends.

It’s Clay’s turn next, he somehow knows this from deep inside himself; or it should have been, but he isn’t called forward. He wants to go up and confess what he didn't do, say what he should have done… Because Hannah is wrong, he isn’t innocent, he never was. But nonetheless he’s motionless, unable to move or breathe, he just stares as Justin takes the stand for a second time.

The moment the tape starts playing and Hannah’s voice echoes around the room Justin starts crying. He can’t even speak when questioned; it’s like he’s in another place, reliving things he can’t change. Justin only nods or shakes his head when asked things, but his responses are honest, even through the rivers of snot and tears covering his face. At the end of his questioning he just sobs into his shaking hands, looking broken and pathetic in a way Clay can’t even describe. He’s escorted off and then Clay sees  _him_ , the next reason.

Bryce Walker.

Everything narrows down to his face as he hears his tape, nervous and uncomfortable. He looks jittery but there’s no trace of shame or remorse, no sign of any guilt; Clay realizes he’s just worried about himself and what this trial means for his previously perfect future. Clay didn’t know it was possible to hate him any more, his face throbbing with absent bruises and the imprints of Bryce’s fists. He feels a low satisfaction unfurling within him as Bryce is torn apart by the faceless prosecutor, as he shrinks down into the witness stand, no longer puffed up and preening like he always was at school. There’s a confused expression on Bryce’s face at the babble of words thrown his way, like he knows he did something wrong but was unable to fully comprehend it, oddly childlike but even more so disturbing. Clay shudders. Bryce is a sociopath, completely twisted.

Then the tape Clay recorded starts playing and something changes.

Bryce’s beady rat eyes are on Clay, shooting right through him and filled with limitless rage. He stands up and there’s no sound, the tape is gone along with the courtroom. It’s just him and Bryce in a vast emptiness, Bryce thousands of feet away but right next to him at the same time. Clay can see him perfectly, and hears his jeering voice filling the crisp tension-filled atmosphere.

“…You think you’re so much better than me, Clay Jensen, but you’re nothing— _nothing_ —compared to me! You’re just a pathetic shadow, a so-called nice guy who's really nothing more than a fucking pussy. At least I took what I wanted,  _everything_  that I wanted—I’m not a coward like you! Oh boo-fucking-hoo, you couldn’t tell a girl you loved her and now she’s dead, poor you, nobody gives a crap. You obviously didn’t love her enough to actually pay attention to her, to see her suffering, or else maybe her perfect ass would still be alive! All you had to do was stand up and be there, let her know you cared, but no, that’s too hard for fucking pussy shy-bitch Jensen—how can you call yourself a  _man_ , man? Your love means shit if you don’t do anything about it, you have to go out there and  _take_  it, rake it in! I took that love man, took Hannah’s fucking soul! It’s mine now, always will be, and lemme tell you what—it’s wet and just  _so_  tight… You’ll never understand, I doubt you even want to, what it means to be in control. Someone as low and sad as you could never really get it—can’t comprehend the fucking  _rush_ … Heh, yeah, you’ll always just be lonely, worthless you—all self-righteous and filled with judgement. Well I’m judging you now, Clay, and you’re nothing but a weak  _COWARD_!”

Rage was building up inside Clay at every word, at every step Bryce took closer to him. Bryce punctuated his last word with a sharp poke to Clay’s chest, his stale breath harsh and perfect teeth vicious. Clay stumbled back and there was a distinct _snap_ somewhere deep inside, he couldn’t let a fucking rapist think he was better than him! Clay launched himself forward and struck Bryce square in the jaw, feeling the victorious crack of pain across his knuckles, hearing the clink of Bryce’s teeth gritting together.

Then Bryce was on top of him and they were in the sitting room in Bryce’s mansion. The oil used on the floor assaulted his nose, the disgusting pretentious stink of Bryce’s cologne sinking in deeper. Bryce’s fists were hitting him again and again, the pain blooming out in bursts, his hands utterly useless to protect himself. Clay was kicked in the stomach and groin, against the back of his head which caused him to bite his lip and his vision to go blurry. He could feel the blood pouring from his forehead and the bruises that made up most of his skin, but the pain was fading even as Bryce kept going. Bryce wasn’t stopping, wasn’t showing any restraint. Clay heard the snap of his bones breaking, the meaty sound of flesh on flesh as his face was turned to a pulp. But still there was no pain, Clay’s mind only blearily wondering when this would stop, if someone would come and rescue him. When would Tony get here?

It was like his gut dropped out beneath him.

Where was Tony? Why wasn’t he here?

When would he come back?

**-~o~-**

A hollow sob ripped from Clay’s throat, jerking him awake.

He sat up and wiped his eyes, counting breaths slowly and methodically to stop his hyperventilation before it got out of control. His eyes scrunched shut when he thought back to the dream—the nightmare. He hasn’t had this visceral a reaction to one in months, but then again he’s never had that dream before. He couldn’t remember the last time he dreamt up something new.

Clay was beginning to think he was cursed, cosmically or whatever, because nowadays he was able to tell when he was dreaming almost instantly. Whoever said that when someone’s in a dream and realize it they wake up was lying through their teeth and should have their license revoked. Clay always knew he was dreaming but still had to live through it, couldn’t wake up or change what was happening no matter how hard he tried, so he’d simply given up trying. They weren't lucid dreams either, he used to have those before the tapes, it was more like he was just along for the ride wherever his mind took him, experiencing dreams like they were real life looping in his brain. Reliving them over and over again.

He shuddered; the dreams felt so  _real_ , even as he knew them to be fake. Clay got lost in them after the initial realization, knowing they were dreams but knowing them to be reality at the same time. He’s gotten used to them over time, but it was hellish having to experience them again and again. And now he had a new dream, not one of the countless others he could barely remember that circled like vultures when he fell asleep. The dream was fading from his memory but the image of Bryce’s eyes was fresh and trapped in his mind. No wonder he hadn’t slept through it like usual, he could still feel the intense hatred and dull emptiness of Bryce’s fists against his flesh.

He hoped Bryce was rotting in his cell at that very moment. It calmed him to know that he probably was, the jury wasn’t kind to Bryce when other girls came forward, not just Jessica and Hannah. He was getting what he deserved.

Clay sighed and laid back down, his breathing completely back to normal, letting the softness of the pillows surround him.

He stared at the dark ceiling, his eyes slowly adjusting, hoping that Tony was up in the loft.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

_Tony_.

Tony hadn’t come back to the cabin before nightfall, or for dinner, or by the time Clay was preparing for bed.

Clay didn’t want to run upstairs and check if he was there because he didn't want to be disappointed, because he wouldn’t know what to do if Tony  _wasn’t_  there. He was sure that he was safe and okay, Tony knew how to deal with the wilderness whereas Clay did not, so he was probably waiting out their fallout somewhere nearby before coming back. At least that’s what Clay was telling himself.

Why he might be waiting so long to come back Clay didn't know. Clay had ideas, hopes, but he wouldn't know for sure until he saw Tony again. Maybe he was just cooling off or something. Figuring out what to do, imagining he mangled their friendship—thinking Clay hated him, that he didn't want to see him ever again.

Clay sighed through his nose, his worries were starting to ramp up again.

He should really check upstairs, just in case. If Tony wasn't there he’d call the police or something; call whoever could lead a search party to find him. He probably shouldn't have waited this long, if something bad had happened… Clay wouldn’t be able forgive himself, would be incapable and undeserving of forgiveness if Tony was seriously hurt because of him. If Tony  _was_  hurt Clay’d do his best to help him—he could be in a ditch somewhere freezing with a broken bone… Clay  _had_  to find him.

Clay blinked and stared up at the skylight, not wanting to dwell on possible injuries. A sea of stars greeted him, peeking out behind wispy clouds, twinkling through the rounded glass.

He should get up and check the loft, but he stared at the spattering of suns above him, his eyes adjusting enough to see the black outline of the chimney against the sky. It was an oblong rectangle devoid of stars, perfectly blending into the night sky, visible because of his slightly upright position. Clay looked away and fully sat up, pulling on a shirt and house pants before lumbering off the foldout. He glanced up at the skylight again when he was standing behind the couch on his way to the stairs, something colorful catching his eye.

It was gone for a second but then he saw it again.

There was a orange-red dot hovering next to the black silhouette of the chimney, glowing and varying in intensity. It got brighter and then waned, casting low orange light on some unrecognizable shape leaning against the worn stones there. Then Clay saw the spark of a flame and a circle of illumination surrounded it, and he saw Tony’s face.

He stood still, relieved but confused, watching the flame vanish and the orange dot return. Clay kept looking, making sure what he saw was real, not letting his worry disappear until he knew for certain that Tony was up on the roof—safe. After a moment of staring, the dot not vanishing—not a part of his wishful imagination—Clay slowly walked up the stairs to the loft, his heart beating loudly in his chest.

The loft was different from when Clay searched the cabin earlier, but not by much. Tony’s bags looked like they’d been gone through quickly, the huge bed rumpled and unmade. Clay allowed his body to completely relax then, because these were sure signs Tony had been there, that he was really okay. It was then that a gust of chilled air prickled across Clay’s face, causing him to turn to face a skylight close to where the slanted roof met the floor.

It was open and easily accessible.

Clay stepped through the skylight and onto the slick slate of the roof, grasping the frame so he wouldn’t fall. It was cold outside, the slight breeze pulling at his threadbare shirt, but Clay felt refreshed rather than frozen. Once he was confident of his ability to balance Clay let go of the frame and looked up at the sky, his eyes properly adjusting. The Milky Way arced across the night sky to the south, the highest density of stars there, but the whole sky was covered in them, everywhere he looked. It was much brighter outside than Clay originally thought, he could make out the tops of the nearby trees and the tip of the chimney over the peak of the roof with ease, everything silhouetted a deep midnight blue against the stars.

He took a careful step away from the skylight, the angle of the roof making it difficult to move safely. Clay slowly climbed up to the peak, using the tops of the skylight frames as footholds, grabbing the ridge of the roof and hoisting himself over so he was straddling it. Then he sort of shimmied down the ridge, inching his way closer to Tony.

Clay could make out Tony almost perfectly as he got closer. He was propping himself against the rounded stones of the chimney, the hovering orange dot the lit end of a joint between his fingers. Clay knew it couldn’t be anything else. They would sometimes share a joint when they didn’t have homework or other stuff to do after school. Weed helped his anxiety when he didn’t want to bother with his pills and he knew it relaxed Tony too, unwound the secret ball that strung him tight.

So it was no wonder he was smoking, considering.

A gust of wind made Clay shiver and knocked him out of his frozen state, suddenly realizing he was beginning to feel extremely nervous. Tony was right  _there_  and hadn’t noticed him yet, head tilted up toward the stars—maybe he should wait until morning for what he wanted to say.

But Clay was so close already, no more than four feet away from him, and the orange glow of the joint was a tantalizing escape from his nerves. He could do this, he had to.

“Uh, can I get a hit?”

Tony looked from the sky to Clay’s face, though Clay couldn't make out his expression. He didn't say anything but just nodded slightly, passing Clay the joint. One puff and then another, Clay knew the high hadn’t hit him yet but the ritual was relaxing in of itself.

He passed it back and swallowed the lump in his throat. “…I missed you.”

Clay could feel Tony’s eyes even though he couldn't see them. Tony hit the joint and passed it back to Clay, “I’m so sorry Clay…”

Clay let the smoke ease into him, passing the weed back to Tony. He bit his lip and ignored the tears gathering along his lower eyelids. “Have—have you been up here all day?”

“…I went down to change and put some sunscreen on when I heard you in the shower, but for the most part… Yeah.”

Tony’s voice was hollow and Clay could hear the resigned sadness in it, which made something painful pang inside him but also made him angry. Because now that Tony was in front of him there were some things he just didn’t understand. “You were up here? When you heard me shout your name, when you could see me through the skylights scramble around the cabin looking for you? When—when you could see me eating my shitty dinner alone and miserable?”

Tony snubbed the joint out on the chimney, hugging himself afterwards. He nodded, Clay could see the glimmer of tears shine down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry Clay. Look, I just— I needed some time alone before I could face you…” Tony took a raspy breath and Clay didn’t know if he’d ever seen Tony cry before. “…I  _pushed_  you, I took advantage of our friendship—then I just abandoned you, when I said I never would— H-how… How could you ever forgive me after that? You have every right to—to end our—I’m just  _so_  fucking sorry…”

Tears started to dribble down Clay’s face as Tony’s voice broke, getting rougher and quieter. They rolled down and dripped off his chin, the anger he briefly felt melting away, replaced by the intense need to wrap his arms around the boy he loved. “Tony—Tony, it’s okay…” He reached forward, skidding down the roof when he slipped on a tile and lost balance. Tony’s hands came up to his shoulders, steadying him, Clay’s reflexively grabbing hold of Tony’s arms. Clay could see Tony’s wide tear-clouded eyes now, surprised and miserable. “It’s  _okay_ , you don’t need to apologize for any of that—well maybe the running away part, I was so worried—but it’s fine, better than that really. I—when we were in the water together, I—I wanted to kiss you Tony, more than anything.”

“…Seriously?”

Clay reached up and wiped the tear tracks from Tony’s cheek, he could see Tony’s lips curl into a small smile as his hand came up to touch Clay’s cheek and do the same to him. “ _Seriously_. I love you Tony—“

Tony’s hand stopped wiping and cupped Clay’s cheek, killing the words in Clay’s throat. Then Tony’s soft lips were pressed against his own. Clay closed his eyes and he gripped Tony’s arm harder, letting his other hand slowly caress the side of Tony’s face. Tony licked at the seam of his lips and Clay allowed him access, the foreign feel of Tony’s tongue in his mouth sending little dancing sparks up his spine. He couldn’t help but moan into Tony’s mouth, Tony’s chest flush against his, the tangy taste of him flooding Clay’s senses. He was everywhere, and Clay couldn’t get enough. One of Tony’s hands tangled in the hairs on the back of Clay’s head and stroked his neck; Clay arced, grinding his groin against Tony’s, separating their mouths with a gasp.

“You’re my  _world_  Clay, I love you so fucking much.”

Clay whimpered and some tears prickled at his eyelids again, he hadn’t heard anyone say that to him with such honest conviction before. A satisfied rush followed and flooded through him, Clay angled Tony’s chin up and went down for another kiss. Tony met him halfway and they were  _together_ , moving as one, reciprocal and equal parts of a whole. As their lips moved against one another Clay could feel it, the love emanating out from Tony, his strong hands grasping at his elbows, the happy groan coming from Tony’s throat. Clay wanted to feel all of him, everywhere, and as soon as possible. He gripped at Tony’s hip, dipping his fingers under his waistband and then up under the hem of his shirt, the warmth of his skin intoxicating. Tony leaned into Clay’s hand and one of his own wandered under Clay’s shirt, leaving a hot trail as it mapped the planes of his stomach and caressed his ribs. Clay just needed those calloused hands to keep touching him; then Tony thumbed his nipple and Clay gasped into his mouth, rubbing himself against the stiff bulge in Tony’s pajama bottoms. Tony shuddered but retreated with a pant, their lips coming apart.

Tony took a breath and looked out at the forest before focusing back on Clay, “We—we need to seriously get off this roof!”

Clay laughed, free, and could see the white of Tony’s teeth as he grinned up at him. He felt himself get all gooey inside at Tony’s smile, and knew he was smiling too. “Yes please, I need—I need you,  _now_ —“

Tony claimed his mouth with a searing kiss, pouring his desire into Clay, but it was brief, just a taste. Tony parted and grabbed Clay’s hand, tightly intertwining their fingers, beginning to climb up to the peak of the roof. Clay followed easily, feeling lighter than air, focusing on the firm but gentle hold of Tony’s hand. Tony kept looking back at him and smiling, his form muted but solid against the starry sky, his obvious happiness mirroring Clay’s.

Everything felt calm and  _right_  for once.

Tony’s bed was amazing, even more amazing was Tony on top of him, kissing his neck. It struck Clay that he was allowed to touch and feel, completely, his hands responding by exploring the contours of Tony’s back through his shirt. It was both enough and not at the same time, he needed to feel the heat of Tony’s skin directly on his palms and the shirt was getting in the way. And Tony’s lips were so distracting, the roughness of his thumb on one side of Clay’s neck grounding him while Tony’s mouth found a sensitive spot Clay didn’t know he had on the other. Tony kissed that spot again and it sent a shiver through Clay’s body, he fisted the back of Tony’s shirt.

“Tony, please!“

Tony shifted back on his haunches so he was straddling Clay’s waist, his deviously perfect smile barely visible in the dark. He rubbed his hand over Clay’s upper chest, fingers tracing his clavicle under the hem of his collar. “Is everything okay Clay?”

The tone of Tony’s voice was one Clay's never heard before in his life. It made his erection throb and he knew Tony felt it poke his ass. “Everything is perfect, just, uh, could you take off your shirt?”

“Of course,” Tony said, his fingers now circling around Clay’s nipple through the fabric of his shirt but never touching it, “Can you take off yours too?”

Clay didn’t answer, pulling his shirt over his head instead. He heard the rustle of clothing as Tony did the same, feeling him shift against his crotch as he did so. After Clay threw his shirt somewhere to the side his eyes were drawn up to Tony, the starlight pouring through the skylight allowing him to visually trace all the hard lines and soft curves of his body. His hands went up to feel the soft skin of Tony’s pecs, following the lines of the orchid branches blooming there; his other hand feeling the coarse hairs below Tony’s bellybutton, running over the subtle delineations of his abs. Tony’s abdomen twitched, Clay could hear his breathing hitch too.

“What’s up Clay? I can’t read your expression…”

Clay looked up at Tony’s face, mostly in shadow but his slight smirk pretty obvious. “You already know how beautiful you are—I guess I’m just admiring what I’ve never been able to touch.”

Tony laughed breathily. One of his palms came down to play with the light dusting of hair embellishing the middle of Clay’s chest, the other sending little tingles through his body as it gently ran along his flank, featherlight. “You’re the beautiful one Clay, and you don’t even know it. So kind and thoughtful too, captivating to watch—“

Clay sat up so his body was flush with Tony’s, claiming Tony’s lips before his kind words could sink in and make him cry again. Tony’s surprised groan was adorable as he melted into his mouth, his hands easily wrapping around Clay’s shoulders and tugging him closer. Clay’s hands rested on Tony’s hips; he could feel Tony’s erection trapped between them, it twitched against him when his fingers dipped below the waistband of Tony’s fleece pajama bottoms, caressing the top of his ass.

They could talk later, discuss what this meant for them, but right now Clay just needed to be surrounded by the love he felt radiate from Tony. The affection and tenderness he could feel through his lips, with every swipe of their exploring tongues. It was consuming and filled him with inexplicable warmth—it was kind of scary too, but Clay knew everything would be alright if they both felt what was so palpable between them.

Tony moaned into his mouth and Clay slipped further into his pants, cupping his round cheeks. Clay’s thumbs caught the waistband of Tony’s pajama bottoms and started to pull them down, his mind clouded with inexperienced desire but his body nonetheless moving on cruise control. He pulled them down as far as they could go, fully squeezing Tony’s firm ass as Tony nipped at his lips.

Tony shifted back so he could remove the rest of his clothing, Clay watching Tony’s face as he reached down to grip his own waistband, disentangling himself from his pesky house pants. It was like Tony’s face was blown open, his rounded jaw slack and lips glistening from kissing, and then he was completely naked and Clay could see the wetness at the tip of his dick shimmering under the stars. Tony sat across Clay’s bare thighs and wrapped his arms around him, the sensitive flesh of their dicks making Clay hiss as they bumped together. He hungrily joined their lips, dipping his tongue into Tony’s mouth, relishing his taste and letting himself get lost in the pleasant scent of Tony.

Clay never felt so alive before, the realization almost frightening.

“ _Clay_ ,” Tony moaned, their lips coming apart.

Clay kissed at Tony’s jaw as he involuntarily thrust against him, the stubble there tickling his lips, Tony tight and buzzing in his hands. Tony’s breath warmed the side of Clay’s face as he looked down at their dicks, one of his big hands coming between them to stroke them together. Clay huffed into Tony’s shoulder, gripping at his back, watching Tony stroke them as Tony kissed his neck, right in that spot that made him shudder.

“Tony— _don’t stop_ —Tony,” he begged, the slickness of their pre-come letting them slide together with relative ease.

“ _Never_ ,” Tony hissed into his ear, sounding like a promise.

Clay gasped at the hiss of warm air against his earlobe, feeling a tightness build right above his groin. Tony’s hand was moving faster and the pressure increased, little grunts falling from of his mouth directly against Clay’s skin, making Clay’s dick jump between his fingers. He kissed at Tony’s neck, just under the tattoo of blue stars there, Tony’s skin sweaty against his lips, little specks of moisture dripping from his floppy black hair. Then Tony did some sort of twist with his hand, his fingers swiping right under the tip of Clay’s leaking dick, drawing out a whine. His balls tightened and he knew it wouldn’t be long now, Clay didn’t think he could get any harder if he tried.

“ _Tony_ , I’mma ‘bout to—I’m so  _close_ —“

Tony huffed, “Me too,  _cariño_ , just a little more—“

Tony repeated the little twist of his hand again and again, speeding up. At every swipe the pressure built within Clay, until he just couldn't hold it anymore. He scrunched up his eyes and spasmed, crying out, spilling over Tony’s fingers. Clay grasped Tony’s shoulders tightly as Tony kept going, milking him for every drop, his dick twitching and his body shaking with overstimulation. Then Tony came with a deep grunt, spattering Clay’s stomach and making a mess between them. He could feel Tony’s body tense up and then loosen after release, completely relaxed as he let go of their dicks and gently laid Clay down onto the bed.

Tony’s forehead rested against his own, sharing sweet little kisses that sealed what they just experienced together. He reared back with a final touch of Clay’s cheek, his eyes filled with affection and smile a little shy. Clay grinned up at him, what they did finally sinking in.

“Let me clean you up…” Tony disappeared over the side of the bed and returned with something soft, probably a shirt, and wiped himself and Clay clean. He disposed of it by dropping it off the edge of the bed, finally rolling over so he was right next to Clay, but not close enough.

Clay turned on his side and snuggled against Tony, resting his head on his shoulder, Tony’s arm moving to rub soft circles against his back. He smiled, letting every emotion he was feeling inundate it. Tony smiled back, no hesitation. 

“I can’t believe we just did that,” Clay said after a beat or two.

Tony chuckled, his free hand touching the side of Clay’s face. Clay was slightly in awe at the depth of emotion he saw in Tony’s eyes, wondering if he looked the same way. “What’s not to believe, Clay?”

“That—That you want me, that you love me back.”

Tony hand stroked the side of his face, leaning in to plant a tiny heartfelt kiss on his lips. “How could I not?” He said when he retreated, “You’re such a good person, and devilishly handsome, I’m actually amazed  _you_  love  _me_.”

“‘How could I not?’” Clay whispered Tony’s words back to him, kissing his cheek. There was a threat of tears teasing at the corners of his eyes. He never thought he'd have this, that he’d ever feel so happy. Clay giggled suddenly, “Listen to us, a couple of total fucking saps!”

Tony laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m happy being sappy as long as it’s with you!”

Clay snickered and watched as Tony’s face lit up at the sound; love on Tony’s face was such a beautiful thing. “Is that a challenge to a sap-off, Padilla?”

Tony’s smile was sweet and eyes honest, “No, just how I really feel.”

The mood shifted from playful to real and Clay realized there wasn’t a barrier between them, that there was nothing he needed to hide from Tony anymore. Nothing mattered more than honesty and the connection between them. “…Does that mean we’re boyfriends now?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Clay paused to examine Tony’s face, pale under the light of the stars above them, “Is that what you want?”

“More than anything, mi corazón.”

Clay felt like his soul was bare and exposed in the best way possible, that he had someone who could see him for who he truly was and wouldn't judge. He reached out and grabbed Tony’s hand, their fingers tangling together and coming to rest on Tony’s chest. “Then boyfriends it is!” Clay declared, leaning over and kissing their intertwined hands. He wiggled his arm under Tony’s shoulder and toyed with the short hair on the side of Tony’s head; he hesitated, “Just, Tony, promise me that—”

“Anything, Clay.”

Clay looked to Tony’s warm brown eyes and was almost scared at the utter devotion there. “Promise me that you’ll never run away from me like that again, no matter what. We’re better together than apart.”

A flash of guilt washed through Tony’s eyes but he didn't look away. “I promise you that I’ll never do that again, that I’ll always be right here at your side. I’ll be here for you, always, if you’ll have me.”

Clay sniffed and buried his face against Tony’s shoulder, the smell of his bodywash and sweat overpowering everything. Leave it to Tony to make him tear up over heartfelt promises. “I—I love you so fucking much, I hope you know that…”

“I do…” Tony’s hand moved to stroke the back of Clay’s head, caring and soft. “And I hope you know that I feel the same. You’ve been my everything for a long time Clay, it’s sappy but it’s true.”

Clay giggled through his dribbly tears and kissed Tony’s shoulder, where he was buried. He felt Tony kiss his temple and he knew everything would be okay—he hoped that it would. He hoped that he’d never feel lonely ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think now is a good time to say that both Tony and Clay are 18 in this fic. Also I want to bring up that I don't think some of the stuff Clay thinks about himself, and even some of the things he thinks about Tony, are exactly healthy at this point. But this is just the beginning! Next week will be much fluffier, and thanks for reading!
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated!


	5. Hike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s Chapter 5 and that means Part 1 is complete! I have some questions for you guys regarding Part 2 in the endnotes, so if you feel up to it I’d really appreciate your input.
> 
> Enjoy!

**-~\O/~-**

 

The first thing Clay noticed when he awoke, before even opening his eyes, was that he was totally naked.

The next thing was that he wasn’t alone in bed.

He opened his eyes to see a slack-faced Tony, also naked, letting out soft little snores every other second. Clay was snuggled up next to him, his arm draped over Tony’s chest, arm falling and rising as he breathed. Tony’s shoulder was serving as Clay’s pillow, the thick arm attached to said shoulder a warm barrier along Clay’s back, holding him close. Clay decided he didn’t want to move, drifting back to a pleasant half-sleep.

Clay’s eyes suddenly shot open, the memories from the night before finally flooding in and gaining clarity.

He had sex—with Tony.

They were  _boyfriends_.

Clay grinned, unable to control himself; Tony loved him back! What felt like a dream was actually reality, and all it took was being honest with the boy right there next to him. It felt too good to be true, Clay’s mind a rush of various emotions, but the evidence was all there—they were definitely both  _very_  naked and sharing a bed. Also Clay felt suspiciously stressless, like he felt after jerking off, and it’s been awhile since he’s done that, so…

So it was true, his memories weren’t lying, last night wasn’t some fantasy his mind cooked up. As if Clay’s mind could come up with something so perfect and easy anyway, without his usual telltale nervousness or awkward fumbling. He’d never imagined being with Tony would feel so right—so natural. Whenever he allowed himself to think about Tony sexually he always pictured something a bit more—well, he couldn't even think of an alternative anymore. All he could picture was Tony draped in starlight sitting across his thighs, beautiful and maybe a little cocky; or remember the feel of their dicks rubbing together within the confines of Tony’s hand, the taste of Tony’s lips and the sound of his grunts overpowering any fictional scenario Clay could imagine.

Reality was just so much sweeter.

Clay suppressed a delightful shiver at the memory of Tony’s hands—instead he decided to focus on the real thing right in front of him. There weren’t many times when Clay could just admire Tony without worrying about getting caught, and he just wanted to watch him, to make sure he was really there. He supposed he could look much more from now on though, even when Tony was awake, but a sleeping Tony wasn’t a sight Clay had dealt with before. At least in this context.

Clay’s eyes slowly took in Tony’s profile; the long hair on the top of his head stiffly falling over his forehead, the dark shadow of stubble running along his jaw, the slight gathering of looser skin near his neck—a so-called imperfection that just made Tony look Tony-like. His face was so serene and relaxed too, which wasn’t unusual when Tony was awake but it was notably different now since Tony wasn’t actively holding the expression. The little noises from the puffs of air coming through his open lips could barely be called snores, and Clay wondered if it was weird that he found them to be ridiculously cute. But he didn't care because the more he looked at Tony the more he felt a sort of tenderness rise in his chest, and he realizes what he's feeling could probably be classified as love.

He’s had the feeling before, from looking at Tony, but also from Hannah. It wasn’t something he came to know or pay attention to until after her suicide; he knew he had a crush, but only when she was gone did he completely understand the depths of his feelings, to accept them. With Tony the feeling was almost always there, just below the surface, coming out at certain moments stronger than others. With him Clay knew he had a strong crush too, but again he never really dwelled upon what his feelings really were or what they meant. Looking at Tony now, so peaceful and beautiful, was the first time he’s acknowledged love in real time, not looking back at an echo of the past.

It was thrilling, but wonderfully nerve-wracking too.

What if he made a mistake, what if he pushed Tony away? At some point in the last few months Clay had gotten used to Tony always being there, either already by his side or just a text away whenever he needed him—he couldn't imagine Tony not being in his life, even just as a friend. When Tony vanished yesterday Clay had to seriously think about a Tonyless future, and it scared him realizing just how much he had come to rely upon his friend—with his seemingly endless patience and understanding. What if he messed this up, what if Clay’s love was as toxic as he feared?

Watching Tony, his chest rising and falling as he breathed—his free hand coming to absently scratch at his belly in his sleep, Clay pushed down his worries as far as they could go. He made a vow to himself that he’d tackle things head-on as they came, and to trust that Tony would be open with him, that he’d be there. Clay knew he would try to be as open with Tony as possible; he was already the person Clay trusted the most, the one he confided in, but this was new territory for them. He decided that he wouldn't hide things from Tony, especially emotions, because if one thing could ruin lives and relationships it was lying about how you felt. Being honest with his feelings already got him Tony, maybe it’d help him keep him too. Hopefully it’d be that easy.

It was already easy, the way Clay’s hand stroked at Tony’s chest, feeling him breathe and his beating heart. He would make sure that he’d always be there for Tony, just like he deserved. It frightened Clay just how much he loved him, now that he actually allowed himself to feel all of it, to recognize it. If he always felt this way then being with Tony would always be easy. He just had to keep loving him.

Tony stirred, his face scrunching up and then going lax in the span of a single second. Clay kept stroking his chest, following the branches of his tattoo as it conformed to the slight rise of his pec, letting his fingers ghost over the deep pinkish-brown of his nipple there. Tony stirred again, mumbling something under his breath, the arm positioned around Clay moved slightly, pulling him a bit closer. Clay snickered and Tony’s eyes blinked open, his delicate eyelashes almost fluttering.

Clay smiled down at him, Tony’s face changing from slightly confused to a blown-open grin. Clay felt that tenderness again, rising up and making him blush. He craned his neck and kissed Tony lightly on the lips, hoping that doing so would quiet any of Tony’s doubts, if he had them.

He pulled away and Tony blinked, smiling up at him, his face obviously pleasantly surprised. “Morin’ Clay.”

“Good morning,” Clay said, placing another kiss on Tony’s lips. He pulled back and he knew his expression was probably ridiculously lovestruck. “…You’re so handsome when you sleep.”

Tony chuckled, his huge smile present even as he teased, “And here I thought I was handsome all the time…”

Clay laughed. “I’m not going to say you’re right, but I won't disagree either.”

Tony huffed air out his nose, laughing silently. When he stopped he met Clay’s eyes, the sheer affection there making Clay ache. “Well I’d say you’re handsome  _all_  the time, but right now you’re more than that—I can’t describe it.” Clay flushed and averted his eyes—Tony’s hand coming up to stroke his cheek, Clay could feel the stubble there prickling at the drag of his thumb, and the slight hesitation on Tony’s part. Their eyes met again, “…For a second I thought I dreamt up everything last night, but then you kissed me.”

“…It was too good to be a dream,” Clay whispered.

Tony chuckled again. “Sap!”

“It’s true! Last night was everything I ever wanted…”

Tony’s thumb rubbed over the apple of Clay’s cheek, looking at him with those wide limitless eyes. The fact that all the joy on Tony’s face right then was because of him made Clay feel important in a way he’s never felt before. “Yeah, me too.”

Clay grinned and ducked his head. “God, we really  _are_  sappy…”

Tony hummed his agreement, rolling onto his side so they were face to face. His little smile was beautiful and unrestrained, and Clay was again aware of the fact they were both naked as Tony’s shorter but wider frame fit perfectly against his own. Tony’s little smile grew as he felt Clay get a little hard, and then he kissed him gently on the cheek. The hand that was caressing Clay’s face fell away down to his side, slowly stroking as if he was trying to— Clay breathed out a laugh as Tony started to tickle his ribs, covering Clay’s face in kisses, kissing him everywhere but his mouth. Clay’s hands scrambled in retaliation, trying to remember where Tony was the most ticklish—soon they were both laughing quietly, to the point where they couldn’t keep up the game.

Clay panted, catching his breath. He heard his stomach grumble and he guessed Tony did too because he poked at Clay’s belly, “You want me to get up and make breakfast? Wanna learn some stuff?”

Clay looked over at Tony’s face, his head was propped up and was looking at Clay with unhidden admiration. Clay wasn’t used to looks like that. “Hm, tempting. I think I have a better idea though…”

Clay rolled over and got up, not making a move to put on any of the clothes strewn across the floor as he walked around the bed. He knew Tony was watching him, and it was different being naked in front of him in daylight, but Clay found he could ignore his embarrassment when it came to Tony. Mostly. He just hoped he didn’t notice the flush on his chest.

“Where’re you off to?” Tony asked, sitting up on his elbows.

“You’ll see! I’m going to treat you to breakfast in bed, Jensen style.”

Tony looked at Clay, his eyes wandering down the length of his body, hungrily lingering on his groin, but then they came back up again. “…Jensen style?”

“Yeah… What brand of cereal do you like?”

Tony practically cackled, holding his abdomen. Watching him shake, watching Tony do  _anything_ , made Clay smile. Maybe everything would be easy after all.

**-~o~-**

Things were different between them, different but mostly the same too.

The differences were mostly physical and in Clay’s opinion that made them all the better.

They were sometimes small, like how Tony let his hand rest on Clay’s thigh when it wasn’t on the stick shift, or how Clay allowed their fingers to tentatively intertwine as they began to hike up the trail away from where the Mustang was parked. But they were sometimes big too; now Clay was allowed to come up behind Tony when he was at the sink washing their bowls and wrap his arms around him—kissing his shoulder. And their shared shower after breakfast, with accompanying soapy hand jobs and desperate kisses, would never have happened even a day ago. Clay found himself ready for all the changes, they felt natural even if they might be speeding through things, even though they hadn’t really talked about anything yet. He’s been wanting something like this with Tony for a long time, so now that he had it he wanted to give in and just go with what felt right. And so far everything felt right.

What stayed the same was almost more interesting to Clay, since it really made him think about how their attraction to one another had always been there. The shared looks in the car for example, a long-time constant of their friendship, hadn’t changed but instead had become more meaningful now that Clay knew it wasn’t just friendly care in the glimmer of Tony’s eyes. The laughs and sarcastic teasing was still there too, but Clay could now see the real place they came from; jokes and quips were how they’ve flirted back and forth for a long time. And now, as Tony unpacked their mid-hike lunch from his backpack, the silence between them was as comfortable and easy as always, the genuine enjoyment of being around each other meaning more than before—what they felt almost palpable in the air, too poignant to be interrupted by smalltalk.

Tony passed Clay his sandwich, leaning back against the boulder they were resting against. Clay took a bite and watched the river rush far below, the early afternoon sun casting warmth against his skin. He was aware of how close they sat, and it occurred to him that this was yet another normal thing they did that meant much more. They always sat close together, walked closer, and worked on homework even closer—it was something Clay never noticed unless Tony touched him directly, which was a whole other thing, but now it made so much sense. Everything was clicking together.

“This view reminds me of being up on the cliff back home.”

Clay glanced at Tony, who was surveying the landscape below. He thought back to the cliff and their memorable climb. “Yeah, it’s pretty similar. But, uh, I think this view is a bit more… Foresty?” He looked around their rocky outcrop, trees in every direction. “Back home we can see the bay and the bridges, so it’s more—“

“Watery?” Tony was smiling at him.

“…Yeah! Watery.”

Tony examined him fondly. “You sure nothing about this place makes you want to let loose again and just shout?” Clay smiled and shook his head, Tony looked back out to the forested ridges across the river. “Hm, maybe it’s just me…”

“It wasn’t the place that made me want to shout… You better not have a rope in that backpack of yours.”

Tony laughed and smiled at him again. “No rope, promise.”

Clay eyed the backpack between them suspiciously, a makeshift table for their lunch, wishing he had x-ray vision to see any hidden climbing equipment. “Good. I don’t know if I could handle another surprise rock climb.”

Tony propped his elbows on his knees, his face a mask of thought. “You seemed to like the climb once we finished.”

“Oh, I did. A lot actually. It was just what I needed…” Tony always seemed to know what he needed, before Clay knew it himself. “…But I don’t need that adrenaline rush right now, I’m fine with just chillin’ here, hiking  _normally_ …”

“I don’t need it either. Exhibit A: the lack of rope,” Tony said, shooting a grin Clay’s direction before turning back to examine his hands. “But I do feel this urge to shout…”

“Why?”

Tony looked at Clay over his shoulder, their eyes meeting, “Because I’m happy. And it feels right to let the world know it, I guess… Why don't you want to shout?”

Clay watched Tony’s eyes and was surprised to see something resembling doubt there, for a second. “Because I feel… Calm. Calmer than I’ve been in a long time.”

Something in Tony’s eyes shifted, the corners crinkling sweetly, and he moved, leaning forward over the backpack. Clay mirrored him and met Tony’s lips, canting his head to the side so they could get closer. It wasn’t deep or desperate, it was slow and filled with words left unsaid in that moment. Clay moved his hand so it was caressing the soft skin behind Tony’s ear, and Tony was running his thumb back and forth across Clay’s thigh. He breathed him in, the sweetness of hair gel mixed with Tony’s earthy scent filling him up, becoming a part of his being. Clay wanted to kiss Tony forever, but Tony was already pulling back, so Clay opened his eyes.

Tony hadn’t yet, his face hovering maybe a foot away, as relaxed and peaceful as when he slept. His eyes blinked open, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips, and Clay could see the warm skin of his cheeks darken slightly. He didn’t think he could ever tire of seeing Tony like this, his own smile building the more he looked.

“So… I make you calm, huh?”

Clay glanced away from Tony’s pleased expression, feeling his face heat up, but he couldn’t help but look back and tease, “Shut up! You already know how you make me feel. And apparently I make you so happy you want to shout!”

“Yeah, you do.” Tony moved the backpack to their feet, scooting closer to Clay. Clay leaned into his side, comforted by the arm enveloping him. They were silent for a moment, just letting the view sink in, Clay getting used to the feeling of being held. “You’ve made me happy for a long time Clay, I… I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that this is really happening.”

Tony’s face was right there, so close Clay could see every tiny movement and flash of emotion. They rarely talked about how they felt, and it usually wasn’t about good feelings either, so hearing Tony plainly state what he meant to him… It made Clay feel all soft inside, made him want to share everything. “Tony, you don’t just make me calm, you center me too, in a way—like, in a way that makes me feel empty when you aren't around. I feel like we’ve been moving toward this for awhile now, even if I didn’t really notice it… How long?"

Tony nodded, smiling at Clay’s words. “How long what?”

“How long have you felt this way about me? You don’t have to answer if you don't want to.”

“No, it’s fine, I have no problem sharing things with you.” Tony paused, seemingly to collect his thoughts, “I honestly don’t know… It sorta just snuck up on me I guess, but I think I knew for sure when we all went to the Spring Spectacular in 8th grade.”

Clay felt his eyes widen. “You’ve loved me ever since—? That’s so long ago!”

Tony laughed. “Oh man, no, I’ve loved you way before that, but that's when I knew what it really meant. Do you remember that dance?”

Clay’s world was reeling. Tony’s loved him for that long?  _Years_? “Uh, wow, I—I think so… Yeah! I remember you, me, and Skye all decided to go as a group but I was the only one who didn’t want to dance, but you convinced me…”

Clay fell silent and reddened. Tony smiled and continued, “Me and Skye had to pull you out to the dance floor and we started dancing and wouldn’t let you leave. I remember apologizing afterwards but… But I think once you saw us dance and realized nobody was paying attention you got comfortable and started shuffling back and forth… And then you started full-on dancing with us and you looked so  _happy_ —you looked at me and shot me this big goofy grin and I—and I knew right then what everything I was feeling meant. And it hasn’t changed since.”

Clay’s throat tightened and he swallowed, keeping his emotions in check. He remembered smiling at Tony and feeling so grateful to have such amazing friends, friends who wanted him to have fun and always included him in everything. That was before they drifted apart at the beginning of high school. “I remember that, you guys made sure I had a good time, and I did.” He looked at Tony and then down at his knees, he felt Tony’s arm squeeze him tighter. “Tony, I… I honestly feel like an asshole for never noticing. You were my best friend even then, and then we all separated and didn’t hang out as much—and that didn’t change how you felt?” He glanced up to see Tony nod, face neutral and calm. He looked back down at his knees. “And then you always urged me to go after my crushes, and with Hannah—with Hannah you were always so supportive… Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Tony’s other hand came down and found Clay’s, tangling them up, comforting. “You’re not an asshole Clay. Maybe a bit oblivious sometimes, but you’re not mean, you’re not to blame. I didn't tell you because I thought you were straight, and I knew—I  _knew_  you loved me as a friend. And that was enough really, I’d rather have that than risk not being around you at all… I wanted you to be happy, that’s all I’ve ever wanted, so helping you find that—it just made sense to be there when you needed me.” Tony laughed suddenly, shaking his head. “I was actually planning on telling you sometime on this trip, I was gonna make us a nice dinner or something and bring it up before we left to head home. But I guess I don’t have to do that now.”

Clay smiled, squeezing Tony’s hand, “No, I guess not. I was kinda gearing up to tell you too… Yesterday forced my hand.”

“Yesterday was a lot. It ended well though,  _way_  better than I expected.” Clay huffed a laugh, nodding. They fell into a comfortable silence, Tony’s steady breathing soothing all of Clay’s leftover worries. “What about you?” Tony asked, “When did you figure out how you felt?”

“Oh…” Clay ducked his head and resisted the urge to look away from Tony’s curious eyes. “I knew I had a crush on you for awhile now, I think it started right after the trial, when we would watch movies together so I could fall asleep…” Tony nodded encouragingly, smiling at the memory. Clay went on, “You’re right by the way, I’ve always loved you as a friend, you’ve always been there for me and somehow you know just what to say to get me out of my shit… But it was, um, yesterday when I connected my crush on you with everything else we’ve been through together. When I didn’t know where you were I was so worried, and I—and I think I started to see how you felt for so long. And I think I understood why you ran away, and it made me realize what I already knew on some level: that you’re just—that I love you so fucking much, that you’re one of the best things to happen to me in my whole life.”

“ _Clay_ ,” Tony whispered, voice full of emotion.

He untangled their fingers and brought his hand up to pull Clay’s face close, their lips melting together. Clay let out a little mumble of surprise, but it was lost and morphed into something completely different, something much sweeter. It was a hungry and passionate kiss this time, Clay repositioning himself as Tony’s hand gripped his back, his arms wrapping around him to guarantee zero empty space between them. He could feel what Tony was giving him, what he was saying with every small nip and gentle swipe, and Clay wanted to drown it it, the feeling of Tony. Clay wanted to show him that he was his, completely—letting Tony maneuver their bodies so they fit together even better, allowing him to map his mouth with the velvety slide of his tongue. He could tell that Tony knew, his satisfied hums vibrating through him, every caress of his lips powerful but sweet—controlling but delicate, so tender and filled with hope.

Tony’s lips disappeared and Clay met his love-filled eyes as they inspected his face. “You’re everything to me Clay, I mean it,” Tony whispered, as if it was still a secret. Clay tracked his lips and watched the subtle arc of Tony’s eyebrows. “I’m serious about this relationship, I—you mean too much to me to mess this up because of anything stupid I do…”

Clay snickered briefly, “If anyone’s going to mess this up it’ll be me! But I don’t want that to happen—Tony, I’m serious about this too.”

Tony smiled sadly, one filled with regret. Clay caressed his cheek in an attempt to push that expression away. “No Clay, it’ll be me. But I’m gonna do everything in my power to be the best boyfriend possible. I haven’t been that good in the past—“

“Stop right there, stop being ridiculous! You’ve always been a good boyfriend, Brad was lucky to have you and don't get me started on  _Ryan_ —“

Tony’s smile lost it’s sadness and lifted Clay’s spirits, his fingers clenching the back of Clay’s shirt. “You would think that, but you didn't see everything Clay. I’m not—I wasn’t good at expressing my feelings to them, and I mean, I sorta led them on too. Since I was in love with you when I was with them, and that’s objectively unfair… I just—I don’t want to accidentally shut you out too, and I promise you that I’ll try not to.”

Clay nodded, pursing his lips. He carefully kept stroking Tony’s cheek, and as Tony leaned into his palm he knew what to say, “I won’t let you shut me out Tony, and I promise you the same too. I’m not the best at talking about stuff, but with you—with you it’s so much easier, it always has been. And what I feel for you, what we feel for each other, it’s worth never giving up, right?”

“Yeah, everything is easier with you,” Tony confirmed, his small smile reserved but glorious. Clay felt like some weight had been lifted off his shoulders now that he knew they were on the same page, he couldn't help but smile back. “This just feels right Clay, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt like this before. I doubt I could give up on us if I tried.”

Clay nodded, knowing what Tony meant. He had felt something similar before, similar but not the same. That love was different, beautiful and heart wrenching and something he never wants to forget. But what he felt for Tony, the love that grew with every look, that was right there in front of him, totally raw and tangible—he found himself wanting nothing else.

He giggled and brought Tony in for a light kiss, a gentle pressing of lips. Was this what acceptance felt like?

“I love you,” he breathed against Tony’s lips.

Tony clung to his back. “I love you more.”

Clay laughed, hooking his head over Tony’s shoulder, feeling the sturdiness of his body. “If you think so, I dunno if that’s possible though…”

He could hear Tony huff out a laugh and they lapsed into silence, holding each other tight. Tony’s fingers slowly moving through Clay’s hair, soothing and gentle. Clay couldn’t think of a place he'd rather be.

**-~o~-**

“—I just wish they’d stop making the same superhero movie over and over again just with different characters and barely discernible shifts in plot.”

Tony laughed, glancing at him before focusing back on the road. “I thought you liked superhero movies—aren’t you a big comic book guy?”

Clay rolled his eyes and grinned when Tony almost snorted at the sight. “Exactly! That’s why I’m tired of all these movies ruining my favorite characters! The directors gloss over all the cool shit and the stories basically lose  _everything_  that makes them remotely thought-provoking or compelling—“

“What about TV shows?” Tony asked. “I remember a certain someone going totally ape-shit when Daredevil and Jessica Jones came out.”

“…Yeah, well, the show format is better for storytelling anyway. They have more time to develop the characters properly and it’s easier to respect the source material when you don’t have to cram 15 issues into a measly two hours!”

Tony shot him an amused smile, slowing down to turn into a desolate gas station surrounded by tall trees. They had driven far to go on their hike. “So you’re telling me you won’t see the new Ant-Man in theaters on opening day?”

There was an unusual tone underlying Tony’s question. “I mean, Ant-Man wasn’t that bad and I have to watch these movies to really dissect them, right? So  _maybe_ —why do you ask?”

“It’s nothing,” Tony said, opening the car door and swinging his legs out. He looked over his shoulder, “Just, I’m trying to think up ideas for our first date… And a pointless action movie with a shit-ton of popcorn sounds like a pretty great time. You down?”

Clay beamed, flushing slightly. He’s never been asked on a date before. “Definitely! I hope you don’t mind me whispering to you when there’s a particularly cheesy line…”

Tony smiled, stepping out of the car. He closed the door and leaned down to look through the open window. “I’m pretty used to your usual viewing habits already—I wouldn't have it any other way.”

“You say that now, but I’m warning you in advance that I’ll have like zero discretion in the theater if the movie is super shitty.”

Tony shook his head, smile still on his lips. “Sounds like a perfect date, man!”

Clay laughed to himself as Tony retreated to begin pumping gas. He watched through the rear window as Tony’s smile acquired a distinctive satisfied edge; Clay looking away before he could notice, giddy at the prospect of a future date. He took out his phone from his pocket to pass the time, contemplating the next move of his Really Bad Chess game, being extra careful since the AI had three queens. Clay could hear Tony humming something as he pumped gas, tapping along to the melody on the Mustang’s beefy rear fender.

It was weird how everything felt so normal, even though everything in Clay’s life had changed.

There was the sound of tires rolling over asphalt and Clay looked to his right as a green Ford pickup with huge wheels came to a stop next to him. A sickly looking man with a shaved head hopped out and disappeared around the truck, Clay not giving him a second thought as he went back to his game. When he lost his last rook though, making the chances of winning much less, Clay looked up and noticed something on the truck next to him. There was a Trump sticker placed neatly on the bottom corner of the window directly to the right of the driver’s-side door.

Then the driver came back around his truck, Clay’s eyes immediately drawn to him and the  _1488_  tattoo vertically aligned down his neck. He swung open the door to his truck, standing on the asphalt riffling through the side pocket, then he closed the door and noticed Clay staring. The man smiled at him, all kind and goodnatured, and Clay smiled weakly back, intense discomfort settling in his gut. The man, the skinhead, looked past Clay and over the roof of the Mustang, his expression dimming.

Clay shifted and followed the man’s eyes, settling on Tony. He had his back turned and was inserting his debit card to pay for gas, unaware of the man staring at him. Clay snapped back to the skinhead’s face, forcing a neutral expression to overtake his features even though he was on the verge of panicking. Waves of disgust filled him as the man’s face fell on him again, scrunching up. There was a sense of intense violation in the racist’s eyes, but Clay kept staring at him faux-impassively, watching as he retreated back around the front of his truck.

Tony popped his head through the window, “You want anything from inside?”

“No!” Clay exclaimed, Tony’s face changing from easy neutral to startled, then finally settling on worried. “Sorry, it’s just—just get in the car, we have to get out of here!”

Tony must have comprehended his unease because he got in and buckled up without another word. As they pulled out onto the road Clay watched the green pickup over his shoulder, making sure the man was still on the other side. He started briefly when he felt Tony pat him on the thigh. “What’s up? You look seriously spooked.”

Tony was sucking on his lip and was obviously trying not to look too worried, Clay could tell. “There was this guy—the guy who owned that big truck next to us—there was a Trump sticker in his window and he had a neo-Nazi tattoo on his neck and he was staring at you and—and I just didn’t feel like it was safe to hang around there any longer…”

Clay glanced back over his shoulder even though he knew they couldn't see the gas station anymore. Tony’s hand squeezed Clay’s thigh, drawing him back. “That was a smart move Clay—I forgot there are people like that up here too.” Tony’s face was serious but he also looked pretty relieved. “For a second I thought you reconsidered something about our relationship, with how serious you were back there. That or you decided to hate cheap snacks outta nowhere.”

“No, no. I just didn’t like how he was looking at you is all…” He rested his hand over Tony’s, sliding them together. “It’s crazy how there are people who still support  _him_  even now—it really doesn't make any sense.”

“Those people don’t operate on terms of sense or logic Clay, it’s all about hate now. It always was but now there’s no hiding it behind false promises and appeals to fear.”

Clay nodded. “I think I’ve come to realize that I live in this bubble, one where I’m pretty sure that was the first Trump sticker I’ve ever seen. And I forgot there’s people in California who actually voted for him too—I don’t want to have to deal with another person like that while we’re up here.”

“Neither do I,” Tony said, falling silent. He looked over at Clay and seemed to consider his face, searching for something. “Clay—you know you see those people daily, right?”

“What do you mean?”

Tony sighed, but not unkindly. “Well, you see people who voted for Trump and who silently support what he's doing every single day. They just know to shut their mouths in public where we live, but they’re still there. You probably even know some of them personally.”

Clay squeezed Tony’s hand. “I… I think I knew that somewhere in the back of my mind but I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Well, you don’t really have to. It’s something I’m aware of all the time; I’ve been wary of those types of people _way_ before Trump cheated his way into office. That’s partially why I try to be so tough, and why I learned how to fight.”

“…That sounds a lot like what Hannah was talking about on her tapes, about what it’s like being a girl.” Tony’s face took on a grim tinge, but he was nodding along with Clay’s words. What Tony said slowly sank in. Clay had to know something, “Tony, are there people I know who treat you differently because of your race? People back home don’t stare at you like that skinhead, do they?”

“I don’t know how he was looking at me, but I bet he was way more open about it than anyone back home. But yeah, it happens. I can tell when people think I’m worth less than them, either for the gay thing or for being Puerto Rican.” Tony glanced at him and smiled oddly. “The other thing I don’t really know about. That’s up to you to determine, Clay, but I guarantee you know some people who would treat me differently. The last person who acted like he was better than me because of who I am was Bryce. But he was like that with everyone, always trying to dominate them in some way, so his opinion never mattered to me in the first place. It’s Monty who really gets on my nerves sometimes. He thinks he’s so much better than me just because he’s Cuban—but he’s an asshole, so what he thinks doesn’t matter either.”

Clay worried his lip, frowning, “Have I ever—?”

Tony looked over at him, his eyes soft, “No, you never have. But I appreciate you asking—and listening.”

“A lot of this stuff is pretty new to me, I’ve only really been thinking about how I treat other people since the tapes, y’know? But I’m trying to—I want to learn, and help. There’s just so much about the world that needs to change… I don’t really know what I should be doing.”

“I think trying to learn is a big part of helping. And being thoughtful and willing to see how what you do affects other people too—and you’re doing both of those things.”

Clay brushed his thumb over Tony’s knuckles, feeling the heat and texture of Tony’s skin. “I think you give me too much credit.”

“No, I don’t think I do,” Tony smiled at Clay, almost like he was proud of him, then glanced away to look back at the road. The sun was getting lower. “I’ve known you forever Clay, and if there was only one thing I could say about you it’s that you care deeply about other people, maybe even too much sometimes. I know you’d never purposely hurt anyone, not really, and I can see how you’re more aware now. I think you don’t give yourself enough credit, I mean, why did you tell me about that guy staring at me?”

“I already told you, I didn't like how he was staring at you.”

“I know, but I think you told me because you knew what that stare meant and you thought I was in danger. You were aware.” Tony looked at him again. “That’s what you have to do, and make sure people can’t get away with saying shit when they’re around you.”

Clay nodded and gripped Tony’s hand harder, flashes of possible scenarios where Tony went into the gas station alone with that man filtering through his mind. “I guess I’ll just… Keep doing what I’m doing?”

Tony laughed, squeezing Clay’s hand in return. “Yeah, just keep being you Clay. I love that you want to look out for me.”

Clay grinned, there was a subtle wistfulness to Tony’s words. “Well someone has to, right?”

Tony opened his mouth to say something, but then cut himself off. He looked over to Clay instead and smiled, the little dimples on either side of his mouth flaring. “…Yeah.”

Clay felt that tenderness again, that tenderness that had to be love. It was there in Tony’s smile, and in his own as well. He could feel it even as Tony separated their hands to shift a gear, or when the speakers began to emit the first song on the tape he’d chosen. It was there as they jammed out on the way back to the cabin, slicing the light dappling the road before them.

Clay hoped the feeling would never leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I’m really happy with how this chapter turned out, I like the idea that Clay and Tony would be really open with each other after getting together, especially after what they experienced during the run of Season 1. Also, the last scene is what the tag ‘frank discussions of current events’ is referring to, and I hope it came across as respectful and genuine. I really don’t want Clay to fall into some sort of white savior trope, he just really cares about Tony’s safety even though Tony can take care of himself.
> 
> As mentioned in the forenote, here’s some questions for you guys, it’d be really helpful to hear your opinions:
> 
> 1\. So Part 1 is now complete and that means Part 2 is coming up next. I want to ask you guys if you’d prefer a week break between Chapter 5 and Chapter 6 or if you want me to release Chapter 6 next week like normal. I’m still finalizing the last chapter and the extra week would give me more time to make sure Part 2 is completely 100% coherent, but I don’t necessarily need extra time. So, Chapter 6 next week or on December 16th?
> 
> 2\. I realize that some of the tags might be inadequate warning people about some of the stuff in the story, so should I be more specific? And what tags might need to be added? I don’t want to give anything away but I want people to feel safe, too.
> 
> 3\. And finally, how do I stop the endnote from Chapter 1 from appearing on every new chapter? It’s really annoying and I can’t figure out how to get rid of it, or am I the only one who can see it? :/
> 
> That’s it for this week, I want to hear your thoughts!


	6. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's Chapter 6! And thanks to everyone who subscribed, hope you guys enjoy! :)

**-~\O/~-**

 

Clay is sitting there on the bleachers blankly looking out as the basketball team runs back and forth, their shoe squeaks the only sound he can hear. The crowd is cheering, jumping up and down, but there’s no noise, his ears are only ringing with the sound of squeaks and rushing blood. Hannah is lying in the middle of the court, right over the roaring tiger, staring at him, empty eyes lifeless and dull.

There’s blood radiating out from her wrists, staining the wood and her white dress. Clay knows this is a dream.

Then the game is gone and he’s standing right on the edge of the painted blue circle surrounding Hannah on the polished floor. He’s not the only one, all the other reasons are on either side of him, each standing at the edge of the mascot emblem where Hannah is bleeding out. They’re all laughing and clapping, pointing at Hannah’s corpse while blood keeps coming, sweeping over their shoes and covering the floor. Clay feels empty and wrong, and he realizes he’s laughing and clapping too, pointing his index finger right at Hannah’s face between claps. Her face is no longer slack and horribly empty, instead she’s looking right back at him, her beautiful eyes filled with sadness and questions, her brow scrunched up in confusion.

Clay can’t help himself, he’s still pointing and laughing, right at her, even as tears begin to well up and spill over her cheeks. His gut wrenches and he wants to collapse and run to her, but he’s still laughing, he’s no different than anyone else. Hannah then shuts her eyes, clenching them so they won’t ever open again, silent tears streaking her face. He’s done this, he’s the one who could have saved her, he’s the one who let her go. Her face goes slack again, her eyelids bobbing open, the eyes which he remembers filled with sass and laughter now empty and accusing him, settling on his pointing finger.

He keeps laughing and he wants to die.

The edge of the emblem becomes the edge of the cliff, trailing down to a black nothingness where the lights of the city should be. He should just do it, lean forward and let all the guilt fade away forever. He has to get rid of this aching in his chest, the twirling in his stomach, and the easiest way is to—

_“Clay!”_

Clay’s shaking and he feels tears covering his face; when did he start crying? He was just laughing and now he’s crying, the ghost of Hannah’s body a shiny white echo in the blackness below. She’s there and she’s taunting him, she’s beckoning him down to the floor of the cliff. He’s trembling and feels himself vigorously shaking his head. He can’t do it, there’s a reason to live deep within himself, he can feel it—

_“Clay, wake up!”_

The tears keep falling down his face and it feels like there’s nothing else inside him anymore. Clay starts shaking even more, like he’s being tossed back and forth. The winds must be hitting him harder, he’s so high up—

_“Clay, it’s okay, just wake up…”_

Clay feels warm arms wrapping around him, a hand stroking down his cheek. He can hear the whimpers tumbling from his throat, and can’t help but feel horribly pathetic.

But safe, he feels safe.

**-~o~-**

Clay opens his eyes to see Tony looking down at him in the dark, his brow furrowed, concerned.

“Clay, you alright?”

Clay’s upper body was enveloped by Tony’s arms, Clay cradled against his chest—Clay could hear the fast beat of Tony’s heart. After a moment he could feel the tears streaking down his own face too, and the stuttery inhale of every breath filling his lungs. Tony’s worried eyes were taking in his face, one of his hands finding its way into Clay’s hair, softly raking through his short fringe. Clay focused on the soothing touch, calming his breathing, syncing with Tony’s deep breaths.

After a moment he nodded, Tony losing the tension stringing him tight. He kept hold of Clay though, keeping him grounded and safe in his arms. “Nightmare?” Tony asked.

Clay nodded, croaking, “Y-yeah…”

Tony gave a short nod but didn’t say anything. He kept running his fingers through Clay’s hair, the touch relieving, reminding Clay that he was alright. He let out a sigh and sunk into Tony’s body, snuffling a little, relishing the feeling of Tony wrapped around him—the sturdy presence everything he needed. Clay wiped at his face to clear his tear tracks, feeling slightly embarrassed by the situation but he knew Tony wasn’t judging him. Tony just wanted him to be alright.

Clay wiggled, Tony loosening his arms so Clay could change position and lay face-first on Tony’s chest. Tony’s arms tightened again and Clay breathed in, closing his eyes and letting himself melt into Tony’s skin. He felt calm now, surrounded by the comforting scent of Tony and his gentle arms. His breathing was back to normal.

“Want to talk about it?”

Clay hesitated. “Uh…”

“You don’t have to, but I’m always here if you need me.”

Clay tightly closed his eyes, nodding against Tony’s shoulder. He wrapped one of his arms around Tony’s chest and gave a little squeeze, hoping that Tony knew to wait. He told Tony about his nightmares when they were at their worst, around the time of the trial. Most of the nights when he couldn’t sleep he was awake with Tony, either driving around talking or watching mindless movies. But he never told Tony what happened in his nightmares. Some of their characteristics felt too revealing at the time. Now though, maybe now was a good time—he’s let Tony further in so they could understand each other more, and his dreams were a large part of him in a way, with how they forced him to become stronger and acknowledge himself.

Clay took a breath, Tony’s fingers stilling in his hair. “I’ve… I have nightmares almost constantly. It’s not every night—but it’s close to it.”

“I thought your nightmares went away, since you stopped needing me to come over all the time.”

“I got used to them,” Clay adjusted his head so he could see the curve of Tony’s chin, “and I know it’s stupid but I didn’t want to bother you all the time…”

The hand in Clay’s hair moved down to rub along the edge of Clay’s jaw, right behind his sideburn. “You needing me would never bother me Clay—you know that, right?”

“I do, but at the time it felt like—like I was taking advantage of your friendship or something, for being so needy…” It wasn’t like he pushed Tony away or anything, he reassured himself. When he stopped calling Tony in the middle of the night they started hanging out more after school instead, almost every day—then it  _was_  every day. “And I thought it was something I should deal with on my own, especially s-since—“

Clay stopped abruptly, his breathing shaky. Tony’s hand kept moving along his jaw. “Since…?” Tony’s voice was quiet.

“Well,” Clay inhaled, “since my nightmares are so personal. I don’t remember everything, but what I do remember… It’s not something you really talk about with friends.”

Clay could hear Tony’s slow intake of air. “What about boyfriends?”

“…Hm.”

Clay shifted so he could see the side of Tony’s face. Light from the moon came through the skylight above the bed, illuminating him in a pale blueish white. He looked soft but determined, though Clay couldn’t see his expression directly. Tony turned his head and met Clay’s eyes, perhaps seeing the hesitation there, because he gave a little reassuring smile. His eyes didn't urge Clay forward, they weren't pleading or deeply curious, they were just looking at him, some sort of understanding behind them—solid in their comforting presence.

Tony craned his neck, planting a kiss on Clay’s forehead. He pulled back, looking thoughtful, “How about a deal? I’ll tell you about my nightmares if you…” He paused. “…You don’t have to tell me about yours, but if you can I’d like to listen.”

“…You have nightmares?” This was news to Clay.

Tony stared up at the ceiling, the low light glimmering off his eyes. “Yeah, sometimes.”

Tony’s words hung in the air. There was a silence between them now, for the first time almost awkward. It occurred to Clay that maybe Tony’s been hiding more from him than he ever knew, that maybe Tony felt like he wasn’t able to burden him with his problems—like Clay burdened Tony with his. But it also occurred to Clay that it was Tony who freely brought up his nightmares, he was taking down more of the walls that kept him from knowing—Tony was trying to be open.

Clay suddenly felt supremely stupid for ever feeling like Tony wouldn't want to help him with what he was going through. Because Clay knew he would always want to be there for Tony, if he needed him, and it hurt to know that he wasn’t there when Tony needed him the most. And if Tony’s nightmares were anything like his own then Tony did need him, and he never even knew.

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” Clay let out a humorless chuckle, mostly aimed at himself for being so worthless, “but you go first.”

Tony looked at Clay oddly, worried, but he hung onto his body tightly like Clay was the only thing tethering him to the bed. “Alright,” he whispered, loud in the stillness of the loft. “I have two nightmares that I remember, with some variations every once in awhile. But it’s mostly just these two… Over and over again, sometimes in the same night, once I wake up from one and go back asleep…”

Clay nodded, clinging to Tony. “Do you have them every night?”

“No,” Tony shook his head, “only a few times a week at first, but recently it’s like they’ve gone away…” Tony quieted, wetting his lips. “One’s about Hannah, about being too late.” Clay’s breath caught and formed a lump in his throat. “I’m driving, racing over to the Baker’s place, knowing something bad is going to happen—and I know I’m almost too late, too. I turn onto her street and I’m flooring it, not giving a crap about the speed bumps. But no matter how fast I go, how much I try, her house is always the same distance away, right there at the end of the street… The—the ambulance lights are already flashing out front. I know I’m too late then, that she’s done something, that s-she’s… And only then, when I know I can’t do shit to help her, I’m able to pull up in front and run to the door. But it’s no use, I already know it’s no use, and I see them, the Baker’s. They’re sobbing and I feel like I caused it, that—t-that if I was just a _little_ sooner… And then there’s the bag the paramedics are carrying, tossing around, the plastic is so  _loud_  and it’s like I’m stuck there in the doorframe, the bag coming closer…” Tony took a shaky breath and clenched his eyes shut, a few tears trickling down the side of his face. “I-it always hits me, when I wake up, that I—that I could’ve stopped it from happening… But I didn’t.”

Clay shook his head, blinking back the tears gathering along his lower eyelid. “No, Tony, you tried,” he whispered, reaching up to cup Tony’s face, scooting up the side of his body so they were basically nose to nose. “Y-you  _tried_  though. You really tried your hardest, when you found out. You couldn’t have known—but when you figured it out, you  _tried_. You really did. It—it wasn't your fault…” Clay wiped the tears trailing down Tony’s cheeks, the regret in his eyes heartbreaking and making Clay’s vision go blurry, occasional drops of wetness collecting in his eyelashes. He wrapped his arms around Tony and brought him into a tight hug, tangling themselves up further as they lay on their sides. “You t-tried, that has to count for something,” he uttered against the fluttering skin of Tony’s neck.

Tony clutched Clay’s back like it was his lifeline, his breathing uneven and hushed. He sniffed and planted a light kiss on Clay’s neck, clutching him tighter. Tony moved to pull back and Clay let him, their arms still mostly around each other; Tony’s eyes were puffy but he looked so grateful, though an underlying bitter remorse was still present behind them. “Thanks Clay,” he croaked, “it—it was really freeing to tell you that.” Clay smiled, stroking Tony’s bicep even as Tony bit his lip, looking unsure. “My other dream—it still messes me up, maybe even more than the one I just told you about. Because what if I was too late  _again_ —“

Tony looked so distressed that Clay felt this responding urge to cup his face, to comfort him, but the touch causes Tony to go silent and look at him with wide eyes brimming with emotion. “Tony, it’s okay, go on—I’m right here.”

Tony pursed his lips and nods, eyes focusing on Clay. “I know, and I’m so grateful for that…” He paused, gathering something in his mind. “My other nightmare—it’s about  _you_ , Clay. About that night, up on the cliff.” Clay averts his eyes out of shame and Tony keeps going, “I see you there, standing right on the edge… The lights are so beautiful and I see you crying, and you’re so upset it’s like I feel it deep inside me… And I k-know what you’re about to do, and it scares me so fucking much, b-because what if—what if I’m too late again?” Tony’s hands find Clay’s cheeks and their eyes are locked, now, the fear in Tony’s like he’s reliving everything. “I’m trying  _everything_  to get you to step back over the guardrail, but—but nothing is working, it’s like you can’t hear me at all! And every time I get a little closer to you, it’s like you’re one more inch over the edge, closer to—“ Clay shakes his head and he feels the tears again, Tony’s face frantic and upset. “—And I don't know what to do, because I can’t lose you—it would kill me, it’s like my heart is being torn apart, seeing you right there. So I tell you that I love you, that I always have, that I just want you to be safe… And you just—y-you—“ Tony’s voice hitches and some tears begin to silently spill over his cheeks, Clay bites his lip as he feels a prickle at the puffy corners of his eyes. “—y-you, you just turn around and look at me, you’re crying more and your face is so wrecked—and you shake your head and sob, and you turn around and I run to you but—b-but I can’t reach you in time… You  _fall_ , Clay—you fall and I jump right after you.”

Tony’s voice is thick and the sight of his tear-stained face makes Clay’s lower lip wobble and his own tears begin to fall. He has no idea what to do, to make this better, because he feels it, he knows what it felt like to be right there on the edge—to hear the crack in Tony’s pleading voice behind him. All Clay can do is hold Tony’s subtly shivering body as they both cry from relived memories, and only when Clay’s vision clears and he swallows the lump in his throat does he even begin to know what to say.

“Tony—“ Tony’s wrecked face focuses on him, Clay’s never seen him so raw and exposed. Clay kisses him lightly on the lips, not romantic or passionate, instead just reassuring, comforting. “I have—my nightmares, they—they all…” He sighs, frustrated at his inability to form words, but Tony’s tender caress of his cheek gives him something to latch onto. “They—I always end up on the edge of that cliff, in the end. I… I used to think it was regret that led me there, that I should’ve just leaned f-forward… But every time I fall, it was like—like I felt an echo of pain when I woke up. It was like I was punishing myself, that it was the easiest way to stop  _feeling_ —“ Tony tightens his hold again, his eyes wide and empathetic; Clay’s having trouble controlling his face to keep speaking, he’s trembling everywhere. “Sometimes it’s like I want to fall, that it’s what I—that it’s what I deserve, that I can’t—that no matter how much I want to listen and follow your words… It’s like jumping is what I  _have_  to d-do. But I don’t want to, but I’m forced to—and then it’s black and I feel the wind…“ Clay’s voice tightens, it’s almost impossible to speak when it feels like his throat is collapsing, and he feels his face spasm and a sob escape. Tears come and Tony hugs him, whispering things in his ear, he has to desperately grasp Tony’s shoulders to even breathe.

“It’s okay Clay,” Tony exhales against his ear, his voice warbling. “I’m here—you’re here, it’s okay…” Clay holds his eyes tightly closed, shaking as he silently sobs. “I love you Clay, I love you so much, I’m here—“

Clay nods and pushes away from Tony, the space allowing him to see the love in Tony’s devastated eyes. He sobs and tears keep coming, but he has to keep going, “Y-You’re  _here_ , b-but you’re  _there_ , too. I used to just fall and wake up, feeling so empty and alone—but now, when I dream, you’re there, Tony. I fall and I see you, looking so worried and caring, and you catch me. You catch me and s-save me, Tony, almost every time…” Tony fills the empty space between them as Clay sees his lips tremble, even through his tears. Tony holds him against his shoulder, Tony’s hand grasping the back of his head. “You reach up and wrap me in your a-arms and you  _save_  me.” Clay feels the wetness from Tony’s gentle hushed sobs against his neck, and feels the fast beat of his heart against his chest. “You’ve saved me Tony—I love you, I love you…”

Tony shakes his head against the side of Clay’s neck, his thumb running through the stiff strands at the back of Clay’s head. He kisses Clay softly behind his ear, meaningful in a way Clay can’t really comprehend. He does the same, kisses Tony right at the junction of his neck and jaw, filling the gentle touch of lips with every fiber of love he can muster. Tony kisses him again and he pulls back, his expression an odd mixture of relieved and worried; his eyes soften as he strokes Clay along his jaw, his stubble tingling under Tony’s fingers. Clay tilts his head into the touch, closing his eyes as a tentative newfound peace settles over him, as he sniffs back a runny nose and his tears finally begin to dry.

He opens his eyes when he feels Tony gently touch the corner of his left eyelid. Tony’s face is stoic and full of anxious concern. “You don’t—you still don't regret that you didn’t—?”

“No, never!” he exclaims, earnest. He wants Tony to understand. “There was—there was a time when it felt like it would be easier if I just wasn’t here, but I never really considered it, y’know?” Tony nods and Clay’s relieved to see his eyes look less haunted. “I never thought it was an option, especially seeing how Hannah affected everyone… It was only when I was up on that cliff, when I heard her words—I was just so overwhelmed, I—I’m sorry to put you through that…”

Tony nods again as a serious expression settles over his face, a little bit sad and reflective. “That was probably the scariest moment of my life…” Clay grimaces, feeling awful that Tony had to experience his weakest moment. But it was also because Tony was there that Clay was with him now, breathing. “Stop that,” Tony says, gently touching the side of Clay’s face. Clay refocuses on Tony’s soft eyes. “You were going through some tough shit, don't feel bad for reacting the way you did. In the end you didn’t jump, and I don’t think you would’ve anyway, but know that even if you think you  _will_  at some point in the future, you can always come to me, okay? I—I want you in this world Clay, I want you with me, and no matter what you’re feeling I want to be there to help you.”

Clay nods and smiles through his trembling lips; even though he felt like he was about to cry again Clay doubted it was possible after the amount of tears he’s already shed. He was so exhausted. “Of course, but this is a two way street Tony—I didn't even know you had nightmares, you asshole!”

“Yeah,” he said sheepishly, a slight huff of air signaling a barely discernible laugh—Clay’s smile began to feel more at ease. “I didn’t want to worry you, and you were going through so much… It felt a little selfish to pile more on you than necessary.”

“You probably did the right thing, but you can’t do that if we’re really in this together.” Tony looked more relaxed and Clay felt it too, even though there was still that ghostly echo of anguish in his heart. “We have to be, like, I don’t know, a unit or something! We have to trust that we can handle anything  _together_.”

“I agree, that’s why I brought it up now. I thought you should know.” Clay noticed the puffiness around Tony’s eyes was subsiding, but he looked as worn out as Clay felt. Tony blinked and bore into Clay’s eyes, his deep voice steady but quiet, “So that’s what you were dreaming about tonight, standing on the edge of the cliff?”

“Partially… Most of my dreams start out some other way though, but they usually end up there.” Clay found it easier to talk about now, since he felt exhausted and emotionally drained. He leaned into Tony, hoping that the dull ache behind his eyes would go away. “A lot of the time they begin kinda like how yours do, where I’m trying to save her but I can’t… And it’s always my fault, because I couldn’t say anything to her when she was still alive.”

“It wasn’t any one of our faults Clay, we all did something that let her down somehow—we should’ve been better friends.”

“Yeah…” Clay shut his eyes, the little pang of dread and guilt in his gut almost overpowering. He realized he was running his hand over Tony’s chest without knowing it, he wondered how long he’d been doing that. “I still miss her.”

“Of course you do, I do too.”

Tony’s broader hand covered his own, their fingers sliding past each other, a sense of calm seeped through Clay’s palm. They were silent, Clay’s mind slowly working through some things as he tucked his head under Tony’s chin, resting on his shoulder. Tony’s long breaths raise and lower Clay’s head in a soothing way, the solidity of his presence made Clay feel immensely grateful. Both for what they had together and for the fact they've survived so much.

“I don’t know if we would’ve made a good couple,” he whispered, feeling Tony’s breath hitch. “I miss her laugh and her jokes, being able to talk to her… But I don't really miss the theoretical ‘us’ that I built up in my mind. I’ve realized that I shouldn’t miss something I never even had, even though I wanted it to badly…” Clay paused, squeezing Tony’s hand. “What I'm trying to say is what we have, Tony, is nothing like what I could've had with Hannah. You’re different,  _I’m_  different, and—and you’re not a replacement. I love you and I—I’m happy to be here with you. This is what I want.”

“I…” Tony’s other arm, which had been holding Clay against him, raises to rest over Clay’s side, just below his ribs. His hand lightly ghosts up and down, making Clay shiver comfortably, on the verge of being tickled but something else entirely. “…Thanks Clay, that—it really means a lot to me to hear that.”

Clay unhooked his head from the crook of Tony’s neck, craning to look at his face. The smile there, the beautiful downturn of his eyes and slight blush, was a welcome change. Clay smiled back at him, noting with groggy intensity that the puffiness around Tony’s eyes had disappeared, replaced by his smile lines. “I don't want to be anywhere else but here, Tony.”

Tony’s smile widened and he surged forward, meeting Clay’s lips with a familiar kiss. Clay sighed contentedly, he was tired and wrung out but Tony’s easy kiss—it felt like this was where he belonged, that he could do this with Tony forever.

Tony leaned back, looking completely content, “I love you, it’s crazy how much you mean to me.”

“You mean so much to me too—“ Clay suddenly yawned, feeling more tired than before.

Tony chuckled, his hand stopping right above Clay’s love handle but his thumb kept stroking, soft little formless movements. “Maybe we should go back to sleep, I’m beat.”

Clay blinked, his eyelids feeling heavy. “Yeah…”

He dropped his head back against Tony’s shoulder, shifting so he was pressed up against Tony’s side completely. He felt Tony’s arm move to a more comfortable position, and the gentle press of Tony’s lips at his hairline. Clay closed his eyes and felt himself melt into Tony’s warmth, feeling like his boyfriend was an extension of himself.

“Goodnight,” Tony muttered, sounding close to a half-yawn.

Clay murmured something in response, but he couldn't hear himself. He was too busy getting lost in the steady rhythm of Tony’s breathing and heartbeat, feeling himself slip away into unconsciousness surrounded by the man he loves. He felt so much lighter than before, more at peace, his last thought wondering if he was about to have another nightmare.

But Tony would be there, both in their bed and in any of his dreams.

So there really wasn't a need to worry.

**-~o~-**

It wasn’t what he expected, Clay found himself thinking, that he’d be the early riser while Tony consistently slept in. It wasn’t a problem, far from it, but Clay always figured Tony would be that guy who liked to get up super early and get stuff done. And maybe back home he normally was, maybe now he was just taking advantage of lazy summer mornings while he could. It really didn’t matter, it was just surprising to Clay that during the week they’ve been together, a week of sleeping in the same bed, he’s been the first to wake up five times out of seven.

So far the normal routine was to relax in bed while Tony slumbered on, watching the morning light illuminate floating dust particles drifting down from the ceiling, snuggling closer to Tony while comfortably waiting for him to wake up. It was thrilling to be so casually intimate with another person and Clay was well on the way to getting used to the feeling, but today was different. Clay had to carefully extract himself from Tony’s arms, lest he wake the cuddle-fiend, and quietly wandered downstairs to start breakfast. Usually they would work together, Tony giving him some pointers and showing him how to chop properly, but today Clay wanted to get a head start so he could finish breakfast all on his own by the time Tony woke up.

He was on his phone reviewing a recipe he found online, swiping down—scrolling to make sure he had all the ingredients for a third time, when he heard the bed creak up in the loft. Clay felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward and he began to grate some cheese, glad that Tony slept through the delicious smell of bacon and caramelized onions earlier. Everything was prepped and ready to go now, Tony just in time for all the separate parts of their breakfast to be thrown together.

The final thing Clay had to do was whisk some eggs together in a measuring cup and pour them into the cast-iron on the stovetop, all the while aware of the soft footsteps descending the stairs behind him. He used a spatula to make sure the eggs weren’t sticking to the edges of the pan, waiting for them to thicken just like Tony taught him and the recipe demanded. Clay glanced over his shoulder since the stove didn’t need his complete attention anymore—Tony was making his way over to the kitchen from the base of the stairs, just like Clay expected. Tony was sleepily rubbing one of his eyes, wearing nothing but his purple boxers, the smile decorating his lips matching Clay’s—which unfortunately Clay had break when he heard a particularly menacing sizzle, turning back to focus on the pan.

Arms encircled his chest from behind as Clay dropped a mixture of chopped bacon, onions, cheese, and cilantro into the pan. A soft kiss at the base of his neck followed, the weight of Tony’s head making its presence known as he rested his chin on Clay’s shoulder. “Good morning,” Tony said, stifling a yawn. “This for me?”

“No, it’s all for me!” Clay teased. Tony chuckled and shook his head, Clay switching the spatula to his other hand so he could drape his now-free arm over Tony’s shoulders. “…I thought it was time to pay you back.”

“For what?”

“For when you made me breakfast, and for teaching me to cook.”

“I haven’t really taught you much, you’re already pretty good.” Tony examined the pan before tilting his head towards Clay, leaning his weight into Clay’s side, his smile small and pleased. “…But thanks, I appreciate it. Omelet?”

Clay grinned, flushing at the praise, letting go of Tony to fold the omelet over. “Yeah, kinda—as close as I can manage anyway. Go, sit, it’s basically ready.”

“I have to admit, I think I dig this role reversal,” Tony said, moving around the bar and getting comfy on a stool.

Clay huffed a laugh, cutting the giant omelet in two with the spatula. “You would.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Clay plated the omelets and delivered them to the bar, he sat down while contemplating Tony’s question. “I, uh—I dunno. Just, like, saying things…”

“Hmm,” Tony took a bite and swallowed, swiveling a bit on his stool to grin at Clay. Clay ate a forkful of omelet before noticing, shyly smiling back at Tony, his ever-constant flush making yet another appearance. Tony’s eyes and dimpled cheeks had that power. “Clay, you’re just too cute sometimes. And this is delicious, thanks again for making it.”

Clay ducked his head and his smile grew, he knew he was probably bright pink but didn’t care. He looked at Tony out the corner of his eye, catching him mid bite, Tony’s eyes briefly connecting with his. “…Thanks, I'm glad you like it. But I don't know if, uh,  _cute_  would be the best word to describe me…”

“Okay, how about handsome, then? Or would you prefer adorable?” Tony was looking at him, smile smaller but sincere, and his eyes delightfully mischievous. “Good looking, maybe? That any better?”

“Please, if anyone’s ‘good looking’ it’s you!”

Tony chuckled under his breath and gestured with his fork, “You should just face it, Jensen, you’re the embodiment of cute.”

Clay shook his head and cut a piece off his omelet, the smoky bacon and onion flavors perfectly savory. “If you say so.”

“Wait,” Tony’s hand came out to rest of Clay’s shoulder, somewhat pivoting his stool, “do you really think you’re not attractive?”

“Well, I mean, I don’t think I’m ugly if that’s what you’re saying…”

“I’m not, and you’re  _far_  from ugly.” Tony’s eyes slowly took in Clay’s face, he couldn’t help averting his eyes when Tony’s looked so heartfelt. “You know, beautiful is probably the word that describes you best. You’re beautiful, Clay.”

“Oh, please—”

“I’m serious, you’re beautiful.” Tony’s hand found Clay’s cheek, he had no idea how to respond to compliments delivered so genuinely. “I’ll remind you everyday, if that’s what it takes.”

“I’ll hold you to that, since you're offering,” Clay said, deciding playful sarcasm might be the best way to respond. Though Tony’s serious eyes, his open expression and the graceful curve of his subtle frown, told him that maybe it wasn’t. “…You really think I’m beautiful—handsome, all those other things you said?”

“Of course, I said as much. I wouldn’t say something like that without meaning it.” Tony’s palm slid down to thumb at Clay’s pulse point on his neck. They were completely facing each other now, knees close to knocking, breakfast rapidly cooling on the counter. “I thought it was pretty obvious that I think you’re beautiful, what with—y’know…”

Clay smirked, not as embarrassed anymore. So far the physical aspect of their relationship was completely perfect. “Yeah. I guess, I dunno, I’m just not used to hearing people call me that. I’ve been called adorable before, but… The only people who’ve ever called me handsome are my mom and grandma, and now, um, you. When I hear that I kinda automatically assume you’re joking.”

“Why? Maybe you don’t know, but you have quite the group of admirers back at Liberty. I might have to fight them off when we get back.”

Clay laughed, imagining Tony in a gladiator-like setting fighting off hordes of people for his affection. He shook his head and rested his hand of Tony’s bare knee, rubbing tiny circles there. Tony was a truly beautiful person, looking perfect in nothing but his tiny boxers and lopsided smirk—Clay looked down at his plain baggy shirt and loose briefs; what did Tony see in him? “That assumes I’d even want anyone else, you won’t have to fight them off if I don’t have plans on going anywhere. Which I don’t, by the way.”

Tony smiled, dimples flashing, “I know.” And then they were kissing, Tony’s hands in his hair while Clay’s grabbed at Tony’s hips—the stools making it awkward but Clay didn’t care as long as Tony’s mouth was on his. Tony reared back after a final peck at the corner of Clay’s lips, his hand lovingly pushing back Clay’s hair where it fell over his forehead—Clay smiled at his boyfriend’s alight eyes. “You have to know that you’re worth fighting for, Clay. I know you’re more confident and comfortable than you’ve ever been, but you should be confident about your looks too.” Tony’s fingers moved to trace the hard edge of Clay’s jaw while he silently chuckled, Clay’s face heating up under the careful scrutiny—relishing in Tony’s touch. “I mean, come on, this jawline! You’re beautiful, and I’ll make sure you realize that whenever we’re together. After last night… I think it’s important for me to be here for you, to help you with stuff like this, now more than ever.”

Clay averted his eyes for a moment, focusing on the fractal pattern of hair embellishing Tony’s powerful thighs, before looking back up at Tony’s face. His smile was barely there but he still looked so happy and open, nothing hiding behind his eyes other than care—Clay loved that he was the one allowed to see Tony like this, that Tony trusted him with this part of him. The intense romantic part, the dedicated partner aspect of his personality that Clay always knew was there but hadn’t fully seen until they got together. Tony’s ex-boyfriends had to be idiots to dump him, but then again maybe Tony wasn’t like this with them. For whatever reason, Tony thought he was special.

“Okay. But I don’t want you complimenting me to, like, become some kinda work for you or something.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony said, retreating his hands and swiveling to face the counter, taking a bite. “I can think of many enjoyable ways to remind you that you’re worth it.  _Very_  enjoyable.”

“Oh yeah?” Clay smiled, his flush maintaining for other reasons.

Tony looked at him out of the corner of his eye, the upturn of his smirk obvious in profile. “Yeah. Now eat the delicious meal you cooked for us, it’s getting cold.”

Clay rolled his eyes and half-laughed, turning to finish his breakfast. He repositioned himself on his stool so he could nudge Tony’s shoulder, the responding bump back making him smile at his plate. They sat in easy silence then, Clay reflecting on how even hard conversations with Tony, conversations with difficult subjects, always felt natural. He always felt more free and open afterwards, like he was listened to and respected.

The complete domesticity of the week he’s shared with Tony wasn’t lost on him either. What with the late morning cooking lessons and breakfast, the shared cleanup followed by lazy swimming in the river—it was like they’ve been together forever. They gravitated around one another for months, but now that they were together it was like everything was finally falling into place. The ease of their slow make-outs on the deck in the shade, the frenzy of rutting together on the couch or in bed, even the hikes holding hands and evening barbecues filled with jokes—it was all so new to Clay but it also felt _right_ , like he found a pair of jeans that fit perfectly on the first try, or like coming home after a long time away. Being with Tony without any interruptions, just them together, was the most fun Clay’s had in a long time. He was beginning to dread going back to Evergreen, back to school and everyone who treated him like he was some sort of crazy loner.

But now Tony was with him and the prospect wasn’t too awful—it was doable. And they had three more weeks together like this anyway, they still had plenty of time before real world pressures took over.

Tony collected their plates when they finished and made his way over to the sink to run the faucet. Clay trailed behind him, leaning against the counter while Tony started to clean. Tony smiled at him and began to scrub the plates—and the pan Clay dropped in the sink when he finished cooking. Clay watched the muscles of Tony’s chest and arms move as he scrubbed, feeling the urge to take off his shirt to match his boyfriend, but also thinking about the whole morning and the night before.

The need to tell Tony something was greater than the urge to strip.

“Tony, about last night…” Tony kept scrubbing but he nodded too. “…I really appreciate you sharing your nightmares with me. I—I needed to talk about that stuff and I don’t know if I could’ve without your help. I feel, um, more relaxed than I was before. Obviously talking about stuff doesn’t get rid of it, but I think it helped.”

Tony nodded again, placing the plates on the drying rack. Clay noticed he left some spices out from earlier and decided to busy himself by putting them away. “I’m glad, talking about it helped me too,” Tony said, going back to scrubbing at the pan coated with caked-on eggs. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner though. I didn’t want to stress you out.”

“It’s okay, I basically did the same thing. Just don’t hide something like that from me again, you can talk to me too. I don’t want to take and not give, y’know?”

Tony laughed and shot him a significant glance. Clay flushed and coughed into his hand, his accidental innuendo now obvious. “I know, Clay,” Tony’s voice was more serious but it also held a tinge of laughter, “I plan on taking whatever you can give me…”

Clay snorted, which caused Tony to grin at him, the smug bastard. “Hey, I’m trying to be heartfelt here!”

“And you’re doing so well at it too,” Tony said, wiping his hands on a towel before sliding them around Clay’s waist, trapping him against the counter. Clay copied him, smiling down at Tony’s dimpled face. “Seriously though,” Tony added, “I really appreciate it—you. Being with you is so much better than I ever allowed myself to imagine.”

Clay felt his love as a palpable thing, that tenderness in his chest. He nodded, “So much better than I ever thought possible…” His eyes took in Tony’s plump lips, watching as he wetted them.

Clay quickly angled his neck down, claiming Tony’s lips as he pulled him between his thighs.

At first it was tender and sweet, but that changed when Tony groaned hungrily—the salty taste of bacon on his lips ridiculously enticing, his tongue licking into Clay’s mouth as his hands disappeared up under his shirt. Clay moaned, feeling Tony right against him, his growing erection rubbing against his groin, hot and heavy. One of Tony’s hands raked through Clay’s treasure-trail, eliciting a shiver up his spine, and Clay responded by kneading Tony’s butt through the soft fabric of his underwear. Tony gasped and jerked against him, their mouths coming apart only to come back together again a microsecond later, an intense need coloring their kiss differently than before. Clay let his fingers explore the topography of Tony’s body, all the dips and soft curves, the firm expanse of his chest—Tony’s deep whines pushing him further, demanding more. Tony pushed up Clay’s shirt and made his own exploration, the gentle glide of skin on skin making Clay breathy and needy—he separated their mouths and grunted freely, panting as he caught his breath.

Tony kept up his caressing, ghosting his palm over Clay’s nipples, grinding his hips against Clay’s. Tony grinned up at him as Clay looked down at their clothed erections rub against each other, sometimes catching but most of the time just deliciously sliding over one another. He panted some more, gripping Tony’s shoulder, the friction was amazing but his caged dick was aching to be free.

He looked to Tony’s tender lips and then back down at their dicks again, noticing a dark wet spot forming against the purple of Tony’s briefs—he  _needed_  to feel the silky skin of Tony’s shaft in his palm. Then Tony canted his hips just so, Clay groaned—Tony’s dick firm and jumping against his own. For a moment he lost all thought, mind narrowing down to their heated points of contact, his mouth grasping at any sounds, “Uh, what— _what_ do you want to do today?”

Tony laughed, a deep melodious chuckle that pushed all the right buttons, one of his hands toying with the elastic of Clay’s underwear. He rolled his hips again and Clay gasped. “First? You. But  _after_ —“ Clay interrupted Tony by thrusting his hips against him, the little moan falling from his boyfriend’s lips immensely satisfying. “—Maybe we can—can try out those kayaks or something—”

Clay ground against Tony again, enjoying the slight shift of control. He dipped his hands under Tony’s underwear, grazing the top of his ass while pulling them and their dicks closer together. Tony’s answering shiver made him smirk, “That’s  _not_  what I meant—but anyway, I thought you determined they weren’t safe—“

“Oh, yeah—” Tony’s eyes were wide and beautifully clear, Clay relishing in the slight sheen of sweat covering the top of Tony’s chest, beginning to collect in the dip of his collarbone. Tony moved his hands, grasping at the edge of the counter on either side of Clay’s hips, crowding into his space but not moving. “—Wanna try to rent some camping equipment instead? If you’re still down for that.”

Clay laughed, the ridiculousness of their conversation unbelievable, but he was cut short—Tony rolled his hips once again— _finally_ —the drag of fabric over the tip of Clay’s dick almost too much. “Def—definitely!” he gasped.

“ _Good_ —now, let’s take this upstairs—“

It was Tony’s turn to smirk, and Clay couldn't blame him.

“ _Please_ …”

Without any additional convincing Tony pushed back from the counter, Clay momentarily sad at the loss, but Tony quickly grabbed one of his hands. Clay followed him, gripping his hand tightly as he stumbled, controlling his feet was hard when  _he_  was hard and so, so eager—the strain of his erection against the confines of his briefs annoying. Then they reached the stairs and Tony looked back and smiled a megawatt grin, dimples and crinkled eyes—everything that made Clay’s heart leap, and he forgot about everything else except for smiling back and putting one foot in front of the other to blindly follow.

It struck him then, when he noticed the askew band of Tony’s boxers so he could see the strip of paler skin across the top of his ass—almost mesmerized by the wobble of Tony’s prominent bulge he could occasionally glimpse around his hip, that he would do anything for this man. Giving his body to him was easy, even if they hadn’t gone all the way yet, and allowing him into his mind was easy too. He was allowed to feel and be himself around Tony, and Tony the same around him—he knew then that he’d give anything to make him stay, no matter what.

But he also knew he didn’t have to, because Tony was already there, with him—smiling down at him as he gently laid him back against the enveloping softness of their bed.

As Clay gasped at the feeling of Tony’s lips on his neck, at the feeling of his large hands trailing beneath the front of his underwear to pull them down, he knew there wasn’t another place on the planet he’d rather be than under Tony’s golden body. That he wanted to feel this intense rush of emotion, the affection and love, for the rest of his life, if possible. The feeling was so intense it shocked him, frightening with its sincerity, but it was also a feeling Clay had craved for as long as he could remember. He merely allowed it to finally take hold after ignoring it for so long.

So yes, he’d do anything for this man, this boy, his love.

As Tony’s eyes met his, his mouth agape and panting, he could see something similar in the gleam there.

They were together, completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I'm really proud of this chapter. Though it did turn out more dramatic and angstier than I originally intended, but I think it makes sense! :P 
> 
> Any comments are greatly appreciated. The weekly schedule is back in place, home stretch now! :D


	7. Embers and Curly Fries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new week, a new chapter! 
> 
> Here's Chapter 7, the longest of the whole work, enjoy!

** -~\O/~- **

 

The fire crackled and popped, Clay mesmerized by the dance of flames. He wiggled his toes against the worn river stones lining the edge of the fire pit, the heat almost too much. His shoes were piled haphazardly against the stump he was sitting on, Clay tempted by them. He could put them on and surprise Tony down the trail if he really wanted to—but he was too comfortable. Clay breathed out and watched the fire, grasping the soft wool of the afghan Tony laid over his shoulders when he left to put the food away. He felt content and a little sleepy, the fading taste of marshmallows and graham crackers sweet on his lips; s’mores and a raging fire was such a perfect way to end their camping trip.

Three days in the curated wilderness of the campground they chose at random was enough for Clay. He loved every minute of it, don’t get him wrong, but there was only so much unforgiving wind and 1-ply toilet paper he could handle.

He really missed the big comfy bed in the loft, though tangling up with Tony in their cocoon of sleeping bags and thermal blankets was amazing in its own right. It was really his back that missed the bed. Clay shifted on the stump to stretch his spine—he wondered if he was 18 going on 80, due to the little satisfying cracks and pops racing up his back. He chuckled to himself, tugging the afghan tighter. He certainly felt 80, lazing in the heat of a fire with a hand-knit blanket wrapped around him. At this rate Tony would have to wheel him to the tent or something—but the distinct lack of a wheelchair meant that maybe Tony would have to carry him instead.

Clay pondered the thought for a moment; could Tony carry him? Probably not—if anything he weighed more than Tony. And imagining Tony carrying him, all loose-limbed and gangly, wrapped up in Abuela Padilla’s afghan, was ridiculous enough to elicit another quiet chuckle from his lips.

A loud crack drew Clay to the darkness over his shoulder. It was louder than the fire, briefly interrupting the crickets, the sound obviously from a twig or branch being trampled underfoot. Tony then appeared from the dusky blackness shrouding the forest, switching off his phone flashlight. He smiled when he noticed Clay looking at him, his face split between harsh wavering shadows and flickering golden light from the fire. Clay watched as Tony came up to their campsite, considering how he moved. He smiled at his earlier thought, because though Tony was broad and his arms stronger than his own, Tony definitely couldn't lift him.

“What’s so funny?” Tony asked, coming to stand next to Clay, toeing off his shoes.

“It’s stupid, but I was imagining you trying to carry me and I can’t get the silly image out of my head.”

Tony placed a hand on his hip and cocked an eyebrow, “So you don’t think I can lift you?”

“You think you  _can_?”

Tony shrugged, coming up behind Clay. “Only one way to find out…”

Clay swiveled his neck to look at Tony over his shoulder, “What are you—?  _Hey_!”

Tony squatted down and tightly wound his arms around Clay’s squirming middle, his grasp slipping as he tried to lift him, Tony’s arms wedging themselves under Clay’s armpits. After the initial shock Clay began to snicker, his sides were so sensitive, and he let his body go loose, drooping like putty in Tony’s hands. Tony’s hot puffs of breath against his neck and the little sounds of his exertion made Clay shiver slightly, even with the afghan wrapped around him like a shawl. He was too embarrassed to admit that being manhandled was starting to turn him on. Just a little bit.

“You aren’t—“ Tony let out a little oof, his exhale tickling the shell of Clay’s ear, “—aren’t making this any  _easier_.”

“Was I supposed to?”

Tony laughed, letting Clay unceremoniously drop to his stump. Clay was surprised to realize his butt had been hovering over open air. “So I guess I can’t completely lift you,” Tony said, patting Clay’s shoulder as he sat on the log next to him, “you’re heavy.”

“Genius observation there, Sherlock—and I’m not that heavy.”

Tony rolled his eyes but on his lips he wore a tiny smile, one that made Clay smile too. “Tell that to my aching arms—you know I lift car parts almost daily, right?” Tony says, twisting around to pull his backpack closer to him and away from the fire.

Clay poked at Tony’s nearest arm and addressed it, “I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not that heavy.”

Tony looked down at Clay’s extended finger and then back up to his face, his lips twitching before breaking out into a full-blown grin. He shook his head like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, rifling through his backpack between his knees, “If you’re trying to be cute you’re doing a pretty good job at it…”

Clay grinned. “I’m not trying, I have it on good authority that I  _am_  cute—it’s a subtle difference, I know.”

Tony snorted, Clay watching him take out the pouch holding his weed supplies from his backpack. “Hm, yeah,” he said, leaning over to catch Clay’s lips with his own. Clay sighed into them, the leftover s’more sweetness on Tony’s lips flavoring their kiss. With a last gentle nip Tony pulled back, his big loving eyes and floppy gel-less hair maintaining Clay’s smile. “You are pretty damn cute.”

Clay flushed, he didn’t know if he’d ever get used to Tony complimenting him so freely, but it felt amazing. He brought his hand up to Tony’s jaw, over a week of not shaving leaving a delightful layer of dark stubble there. “And you’re pretty damn handsome.” He then cupped Tony’s chin and brought their mouths together for another kiss. It was slow and languid, tinged with smoke from the fire. Clay could kiss Tony for hours and never tire of it, of him.

He pulled back first this time, enjoying Tony’s blush and slightly flustered appearance. Tony looked at him, his smile small and shy, and then down to the pouch resting on his lap and began to take out his grinder and rolling papers. As Clay watched Tony roll a smallish joint (he was always the one to do it) he noticed Tony’s lingering flush and the persistent shy edge to his expression. It occurred to Clay that maybe his comment before their kiss was the first time he’d ever complimented Tony’s appearance. He thought back and was fairly sure it wasn’t, but maybe he needed to do it more. It didn’t seem like Tony was that used to compliments either, which wasn’t something Clay would expect. Why hadn’t Tony said anything—maybe it didn’t bother him?

Tony placed the joint between his lips and pulled out a lighter, the combined firelight from the small flame and the campfire dancing over his features, making him even more stunning than usual. Tony passed him the joint and smiled, their fingers now lingering much longer than before—when they smoked behind the Padilla’s auto shop or on Clay’s roof during the small hours of the morning. He returned Tony’s smile, taking two puffs and passing it back. Clay let the smoke filter out of him slowly, catching the wind, mingling with the smoke from the fire as it drifted up to the night sky between the trees.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, Clay?”

Clay took the joint after Tony got his hits, watching the fire grow and dim in the reflection of Tony’s eyes. “Just—y’know how you made a big deal about how I’m not super confident about my looks?”

Tony’s fingers wrapped around the joint as Clay held it out to him. “Yeah… I’m sorry if it felt like I was pressuring you or something, you don’t have to be confident about how you look. I just wanted to make sure you know how beautiful I think you are.”

Clay smiled at Tony’s concern, but also his sincerity. He felt himself flush. Again. “Yeah, no. It’s okay, I’m glad you did that. I was just thinking—what about you?”

Tony coughed as he hit the joint, sputtering, “Wha— _What_  about me?”

“That I think you’re probably the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, like, fucking stunning!” Clay giggled at Tony’s gaping mouth, then Tony started laughing too. “Every time I look at you it’s like—like…” He stared at Tony then, Tony quieting and getting this serious look on his face. Clay snickered, Tony was always so earnest when high—and the flush on his cheeks told him that maybe he needed to hear what he was saying.

“I mean, I know you're attracted to me because,  _wow_ ,” Tony says, gesturing between them. Clay giggles again, Tony’s expression turning more thoughtful, “And I’m pretty confident in how I look, I think so anyway, but…”

Clay took a puff of the joint and let the smoke pour out of his mouth in one big cloud. “Hm?”

“…But, I don’t know. Sometimes I get worried that I'm just an experiment to you or something. I mean, I know that’s not true, but you haven’t told me what you identify as, or why you haven’t told me… You're bi, right?”

Clay gasped, his hand finding Tony’s thigh and squeezing it. “Tony,  _Tony_ —you’re not an experiment! I love you, I really do!”

Tony nodded and averted his eyes guiltily, his hand coming to rest over Clay’s. “I know that, it’s just a dumb thought that’s been bouncing around my head recently. I really want this to work out between us, so even the stupid shit worries me.”

“Your thoughts aren’t dumb though, maybe I should’ve been clearer…”

Tony shook his head and their eyes met. “No, you’ve been super clear. It’s just that when it comes to you I get insecure like I’ve never really felt before—I guess I’m worried that you don’t want me like I want you.”

Clay realizes the joint is dead and snubs it out on the stump, throwing it into the fire. “Well,” he says, focusing back on Tony’s face and stroking his thumb over Tony’s denim-clad leg, “I’ll do my best and try to put some of those insecurities to rest—I want you Tony. I want you next to me, I want to be around you all the time. I, uh, want to kiss you, to do  _other_  stuff with you… You’re the person that gets me and who I’m lucky enough to call my best friend—and you’re also the person I’ve fallen in love with.” Tony squeezes his hand and Clay smiles at their joined hands, squeezing back. “…And I don’t see myself ever falling out of love with you, either.”

He looks up and sees Tony beaming, dimples and all, his free hand wiping the corners of his eyes even though it didn't look like he’d been crying. Clay feels a fluttering in his chest at the sight, his limbs feeling all tingly, and leans forward to plant a chaste kiss on Tony’s cheek. “That—That basically sums up how I feel about you, too,” Tony says, still beaming and rosy when Clay retreats.

“Good.” Clay maneuvers his legs so they used Tony’s as support, the different shades of their jeans intertwining. “I really want us to work out too, and, um, I think we are—but I don’t have much experience…”

“Yeah, this is working out,  _believe_  me…”

Tony breathes out a laugh and Clay laughs with him. “I still can’t believe you and Ryan went out, and I didn’t even realize it until a year later!”

“ _I_  can’t believe it sometimes…” Tony squints his eyes, like he’s looking far into the past. “But he was a very necessary relationship for me, I think. Allowed me to realize what I want and don’t want from a partner. I don’t want to be bossed around and looked down upon, that’s for fucking sure.”

Clay scowled; Ryan bossed Tony around? “That doesn't sound fun.”

“It wasn’t. And I wasn’t the best boyfriend either.” Tony glances up, letting go of Clay’s hand to scoot closer so their thighs were touching. He grabs Clay’s hand again and chuckled, “It was easy though, which is why it happened. He was out since 8th grade and I knew he liked me, with how he looked at me in Algebra II, so I thought why the hell not? I might as well give it a shot. Not like there was another guy I knew who would kiss me back.”

They fell into a brief silence then, Clay worrying his lip and tightening his hold on Tony’s hand. He knew Tony wasn’t trying to make him feel guilty, and he hadn’t even liked Tony like that back then, but he still felt it. He wished he had paid more attention to Tony at the beginning of high school, instead of letting him drift away.

Clay bumped his shoulder against Tony’s and stared into the fire. “I am bi, by the way, since you asked earlier.” He could see Tony’s head turn his direction out of the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry I didn't tell you, I probably should’ve when you came out to me. But that was right when I started feeling attracted to you and I was so fucking confused in general—I didn’t want you to think I was coming on to you when you were the only friend I really had.”

Clay turned to see Tony nod, his face serene and understanding. “It’s okay, everyone needs to take it at their own pace—I was just allowing my insecurities to take control earlier, I guess.” The fire was getting lower, but Clay could still see Tony almost perfectly. “Was that when you realized you were bi, around the time of the tapes?”

“No—I’ve, uh, known for awhile actually. Well, not exactly. I didn’t know what bisexuality was or anything, but I knew I liked both guys and girls from the time everyone starts realizing that stuff—so around 6th grade, I think. You remember those gay rumors freshmen year?”

“Yeah. At the time they actually gave me some hope…”

Clay snorted out a laugh, leaning his head on Tony’s shoulder. The embers at the edge of the fire flickered between red and orange. “They might’ve given you hope but they freaked the hell out of me! It was like all of a sudden everyone knew my little secret—I’m sure you know how that feels…” Clay heard Tony hum in response. He continued, “I think it was Marcus who started them. Before the rumors I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, and there was this time when he caught me and looked at me in this way… I didn't think much of it until I started hearing what people were saying. Once the rumors started going around I sorta just cut that part of me off—I already leaned a bit towards girls anyway, so I went ahead with that. It was simpler that way, but it’s because of those rumors that I ever spent the time to really think about myself and learn more about sexuality in the first place. I can’t imagine what you or Ryan went through though—but I never heard anyone talk about it.”

“Nobody has given me any real trouble at school, if that’s what you’re wondering, but I think that might be because they don’t know or they’re too scared of me and my brothers. Only the rich kids ever said any shit to my face, but my dad told me that’s probably because they can tell I don’t think they’re any better than me just because of their fancy pool parties and ski trips.” Tony paused and turned his head to plant a kiss on Clay’s temple, afterwards he quietly chuckled, his shoulder jostling Clay slightly, “The thing is I don’t know how anyone doesn’t know I’m gay, it’s not like I hide it or anything. I’m just me all the time, I try to be, and a part of that is being gay—so I don’t really know how anyone can miss that. But owning yourself can take a lot of work and time, and I can understand not being comfortable with it—I don’t want you to think I’m judging you for not being out or whatever. It’s about how you feel Clay, not anyone else.”

“I don’t think you’re judging me, I just thought you deserved an explanation,” Clay said, glancing down at their tangled legs. Tony’s socks had a pattern of wrenches and sprockets in alternating pairs. “You’re—I’ve never told anyone else I’m bi, Tony.”

Clay could easily picture Tony’s raised eyebrows. “Really? Not even your parents?”

Clay almost choked on his laugh, “Are you serious? they’d have a field day with  _that_  little bit of information—“ He moved his head from Tony’s shoulder to turn and look at him. Tony’s sly grin and arced eyebrows told Clay everything he needed to know. “Har har—you’re such a comedian. But seriously, you’re the only person I’ve ever wanted to tell. Well, maybe Skye too, since I think she’s also bi… But yeah, you’re the only person—and I couldn’t exactly tell you because I knew my crush on you would become super obvious, and I didn't want to assume you’d like me back just because you're gay. And once we got together, well, I thought it was pretty obvious. Kinda like how you’re just being you and are surprised when people don’t notice.”

Tony nodded. “I figured, but with everything so new and how our relationship changed so fast… Some solid definitions would’ve been nice, y’know? I feel better now though— _so_  much better—since we’ve started talking about this.”

“Good, that makes me feel better too. I don’t want you to doubt how I feel about you, I’m sorry for letting that happen.”

Tony leaned his weight into Clay’s side, resting his head on his shoulder, getting comfortable. “You’ve been nothing but amazing Clay. I’m glad we can actually talk like this—I don’t know if I could with anyone else. I love you so much.”

Clay felt his face flush in the fading heat of the fire, a few flames still wavering but most of the pit was a bed of shimmering embers. He felt remarkably tender inside, the intensity of which he’s only ever felt with Tony—and it was only getting stronger the longer they’ve been together. He smiled, the feeling more akin to glee than anything else, and turned to kiss Tony right at his hairline, the smoky smell of burning wood wafting off his dark hair as Clay breathed in.

“I love you too.”

Tony hummed contentedly, gently brushing his thumb over Clay’s.

Clay kissed him again.

**-~o~-**

Tony’s lips no longer tasted like s’mores, but they were just as sweet in other ways.

He was over Clay, slowly gyrating their clothed groins together, plunging his tongue into Clay’s mouth. Clay grasped at his shoulders, feeling them flex and strain as Tony held himself over him, relishing in the power there and the gentleness Tony used when handling him. Tony shifted his weight so one hand could caress Clay’s bare chest, moving up and down, applying pressure some places while lightly ghosting over others. Clay moaned, squirming to push himself against Tony’s bulge and wandering hand. Tony was getting so much better at taking him apart the more times they did this, Clay could only imagine what it’d feel like in the future.

Tony separated their mouths and panted, Clay just barely able to make out the shine of his eyes in the darkness of the tent. His traveling hand made its way down the soft planes of Clay’s stomach, fingers brushing around the rim of his bellybutton and raking through the fine hairs below. He felt his dick jump in his underwear, pushing against Tony’s, a low grunt making its way though his lips as he ground up against him. Tony muttered something under his breath and Clay grinned in the dark, caressing the side of his boyfriend’s neck while his other hand traveled down his quivering body. Through the dips and valleys of Tony’s chest and abdomen his hand went, feeling Tony lean into him as they both reached the elastic of their respective underwear at the same time.

Clay giggled and saw a flash of white teeth as Tony smiled. Then Tony dipped his hand under the elastic and cupped Clay’s dick, loosely stroking him.

“ _Oh_ —“ Clay moaned, reaching into Tony’s underwear to do the same. Tony breathed out and shivered, the smooth skin of his shaft gliding across Clay’s palm as Clay thrusts himself into Tony’s hand. “We—we need to—“

“ _Yeah_ ,” Tony grunts.

He leans down and claims Clay’s mouth then, their hands fumbling between them to maintain their stroking. Clay is lost in the slick slide of Tony’s hand over his dick and the sweet taste of Tony’s mouth—Clay’s pulls him closer, guiding him so he doesn’t disappear. But still they part, Tony scooting down Clay’s body, sitting on his haunches across Clay’s thighs. Clay hopes Tony doesn't hear his needy whine when his hand slips out from Tony’s underwear when he moves out of reach, but the chuckle Clay hears probably isn’t a good sign.

“It’s okay,” he teases, tugging Clay’s underwear down his thighs, “you’ll get your hands back on me in no time…”

Clay can’t help his eye roll, even though Tony couldn’t see it. “You better believe it,” he retorts as he pushes himself up, hands finding Tony’s hips. Tony sighs at the contact, Clay’s sudden movement surprising him.

Their lips join again, Tony cupping his jaw and moaning into his mouth. Clay pulls Tony’s hips closer, raking his exposed erection over the hard line of Tony’s, hot even through the soft cotton of his boxers. His underwear is only halfway down his thighs and Clay tries to shimmy out of them as his hands descend Tony’s hips, yanking his underwear down—all as Tony continues to kiss him. Something has to give and it’s their kiss, Tony retreating with a longing huff of air, glancing hungrily down at Clay’s dick. He leans back then, allowing Clay to dispose of his boxers, pulling a leg out and rolling Clay’s underwear down past his knees.

They spring back together once they’re completely naked, hot skin against skin, the velvety glide of Tony’s dick against the crease between his groin and thigh making Clay shiver. He can feel all of Tony in that instant; from the soft brush of lips and roaming hands down to the firm press of his chest, all the way to the insistent throb of his dick—and it still isn’t enough. He clings to Tony, bringing them together as close as physically possible.

Tony exhales a groan and responds, grinding himself against the length of Clay’s cock. He’s essentially holding Tony in place now, one hand firmly positioned on his lower back while the other grips the muscles around Tony’s powerful shoulder blades, his grip increasing and waning in time with Tony's thrusts. The friction is building between them, Clay can tell he’s leaking pre-come with every slow roll of Tony’s body. He feels the pressure grow and realizes they aren't even kissing anymore, their lips barely hovering apart as they pant, their bodies fitting together as if they were designed to be together—he’s so _hard_ , and Tony is too—

“Do you—“ Tony gasps against his lips, rolling his hips again—Clay’s eyes are adjusted enough to witness a ripple of pleasure cross Tony’s face. “—Do you wanna try something new?”

Clay vigorously nods, “ _Y-yeah_.” His voice is almost unrecognizable to himself. He can feel Tony’s smile against his neck as he kisses there, chilled waves of bliss radiating from his lips.

Tony withdraws, their bodies coming apart, his hands holding Clay in place from their position at his sides. They’re like that for a moment but then Tony rushes forward and claims Clay’s lips with a searing kiss, all tongue and messily passionate. He’s using his weight to push Clay back against the unraveled sleeping bags and the rest of their makeshift bed, Clay happily going along with him as he kisses back—finding Tony’s hips again and thumbing the divots there. Then Tony moves down, their lips coming apart, Clay just able to see his cocky grin before he starts mouthing at his collarbone.

Clay watches as he continues down, kissing at his chest and raking one hand through his patch of chest hair. He shudders when Tony takes a nipple into his mouth and flicks it with his tongue. Tony chuckles around it and he shudders again, “ _God_ , Tony—“

Tony just hums, now kissing the tender skin above his bellybutton, nipping slightly. He wraps one hand around Clay’s dick and gingerly strokes it as he trails kisses down Clay’s treasure-trail, a moan spilling from Clay’s lips as he thrusts up into Tony’s hand. He swallows excitedly, fairly sure he knows what Tony is planning to do.

Tony rears back and rubs his thumb under the glistening tip of Clay’s cock, watching as he spasms. He lowers his head down so it’s level with Clay’s erection, glancing up, their eyes connecting. The sight of Tony's beautiful face right by his dick makes Clay breathe out a stuttery sigh; he twitches against the confines of Tony’s hand. “Clay, is this alright?” he asks. Clay immediately nods, words lost. Tony smiles and lowers his head, “Good—I really wanna suck your dick—“

Before Clay can comprehend what Tony said he gasps as Tony’s lips encircle the tip of his cock. Then it’s in Tony’s mouth and Clay’s feeling sensations he’s never felt before. He gets harder than he thought possible as Tony takes most of him into his mouth, the wet heat making Clay gape out of shock. Tony moves up and down his dick, doing something with his tongue along the underside that causes Clay to involuntarily thrust; all he can do is reflexively grab the back of Tony’s head and watch in awe as Tony goes down, the little grunting noises he makes as he sucks it down absolutely intoxicating.

“ _Fuck_ —Tony—“

Clay can see Tony’s smile in his blown-wide eyes as he looks up, Clay’s dick still halfway in his mouth. He can also see the movement of Tony’s hand as he strokes himself in time with every deep suck and it’s one of the hottest things Clay’s ever experienced. He moans and tenderly runs his fingers through Tony’s messy hair, Tony diving lower on his cock, his lips basically at the base—Clay feeling the short bursts of air escaping Tony’s nose on his pubes. His balls tighten and he’s definitely getting closer, his dick fluttering against Tony’s tongue. Tony must notice because he moves back up, now only the tip in his mouth, then it isn’t at all and Tony’s licking at the slit, half-kissing and half-sucking his shaft in a way that makes Clay go crazy.

Tony stops stroking himself, his hand coming up to thumb the sensitive head of Clay’s dick instead. He licks a long stripe down the underside as he plays with the tip, almost nuzzling Clay’s shaft with his face. Clay gasps when Tony starts stroking him and takes one of his balls into his mouth, Tony’s tongue swirling over delicate skin. There’s an almost comical pop as Tony switches from one ball to the other, all the while continuing his stroking and Clay feels himself tighten again, pressure starting to build at the base of his dick. He thrusts up into Tony’s hand and it’s suddenly replaced by his mouth, going down all the way to the hilt and back up again, tongue teasing and it’s so  _good_ —it’s the best feeling Clay’s ever felt.

“Shit, Tony,  _I’m_ —“ he keens, breathless, fast pants tumbling from his lips, “—I’m so—so fucking  _close_ —“

Tony ignores him, hollowing out his cheeks as he sucks harder, going up and down—Clay realizing he just pre-came into Tony’s mouth. His fingers tighten in Tony’s hair and Tony grunts, his eyes coming up to make contact with Clay’s. He can’t imagine what Tony sees but Clay can tell Tony is completely in the zone, eyes wide and dancing, the corners of his mouth wet with collected moisture as he makes Clay’s dick disappear with ease. Clay moans as Tony keeps going, maybe even moving faster, and one of his hands tug at Clay’s balls—the pressure starts to reach the point of no return and Tony’s still going, vigorously sucking him  _down_ —

“ _Oh_  Tony, I’m  _gonna_ —I’m coming—“

He cries out, thrusting into Tony’s greedy mouth, throbbing as he comes— _keeps_  coming as Tony swallows around him. He feels Tony’s tongue gently lapping at the tip, getting every drop—Clay shudders at the sensitivity, no doubt just experiencing the best orgasm of his life. A final gasp, one last spurt, and Clay relaxes into the blankets, loose-limbed and satiated as Tony pops up from his previous position.

His grin looks wholly too pleased with himself but Clay can’t really blame him. “How was that?” he asks, wiping his mouth on his wrist.

“ _Jesus_ —that was amazing!” He smiles up at Tony as he leans over him, hands on either side of his head. “I can’t believe I even lasted that long…”

Tony shifts his weight to one hand, using the other to caress Clay’s cheek as he examines him lovingly. His smile takes on a sweeter edge, even though his lips are plush and delightfully used. “Good. Next time I won’t go so easy on you.”

Clay felt himself flush as he comprehended what Tony just did. He liked the prospect of a next time very much, and he wanted to show Tony that he was equally onboard with where the physical part of their relationship was heading. “You were going easy on me, huh?”

Tony’s eyes crinkle in that adorable way as they look at each other with a familiarity Clay’s only now starting to understand. His beautiful lips then tug into a more devious shape and were just begging to be kissed, so Clay pushes his head up to capture his boyfriend’s mouth before he can say anything else.

Tony lets out a muffled groan and dips into Clay’s mouth, treating him to a taste of himself. It was weird, slightly musky and he could smell it on Tony’s lips, but it was crazily hot too—how a part of him was mixed with Tony, how he could discern the flavors. He sought after Tony’s tongue, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him completely into his space. Tony’s dick was hard against his stomach and he could feel it leak as he plundered Tony’s mouth. He wondered what Tony tasted like. He needed to know.

Clay eased himself back against the slick billow of the sleeping bag, letting Tony hover over him again. “What about you?” he asks, glad that Tony probably couldn't tell he was blushing, “You need to come too.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do…”

Clay brought his hands down to Tony’s hips, nudging him forward, up his body. “Well, I want to—I want to taste you.”

Tony’s breath stutters and he nods, allowing Clay’s hands to guide him. He sits back and knee-walks up Clay’s torso so his knees almost meet Clay’s armpits, his cock long and hard and right in Clay’s face. Clay bites his lip and strokes Tony’s dick, glancing up at his face. It’s a new angle and he can see all of Tony, up from his dick and over the softly sculpted rolling hills of his body to the bright expectant eyes looking down at him. He then looks at Tony’s dick, barely a few inches from his nose, quivering and perfectly curved, a few beads of pre-come gathering along the slit. Clay can smell him—his mouth starts to water.

“You really don’t have to—“

Clay runs his thumb over the collected moisture, where it’s most sensitive. “But I really  _want_  to,” he insists.

Looking back to the erection before him Clay tells himself to just  _do it_  and lifts Tony’s dick up, licking a wide stripe from base to tip. He didn’t know what he expected, but it just tasted like skin—Tony’s skin to be exact. He licks another stripe, less hesitantly than before, and when he gets to the tip he decides to lick that, too. Tony breathes out and the taste isn’t like skin anymore. Clay can’t wholly describe it but Tony’s pre-come tastes more like how Tony smells—earthy and male. He likes it, and he licks the tip again, taking it between his lips, tongue flicking at the underside of the head.

Clay figured he must be doing something right because he can feel Tony’s cock jerk, and he notices Tony’s aborted thrusts as he struggles to maintain control. He smiles, or as close as he can manage with a dick in his mouth, and slowly goes farther, wanting to see how much of Tony he can fit inside.

“ _Clay_ ,” Tony sighs when Clay’s struggling to go more than halfway. One of his hands runs through Clay’s hair, “Go slow cariño, don’t force it…”

Clay grunts in response and Tony’s dick jerks again; he finds it so satisfying to have such direct control over Tony’s pleasure. He listens though, pulling back so Tony’s barely in his mouth, then he goes all the way back down to where he was. He does that several times, getting more used to the feel of Tony on his tongue, to the taste of him, and Tony’s fingers keep tightening in his hair—tugging in a way that makes Clay’s spent cock reawaken. Tony starts moaning too, little breathless sounds filling the tent, and Clay starts to feel emboldened, experimenting with how his tongue moves over Tony’s shaft every time he goes down and back up. He flattens it against the ridge along the underside, flicks it over some of the prominent veins, and twirls it under the head when the tip is just between his lips. He wonders if it’s excessive but Tony doesn’t voice any complaints, if anything his grip in Clay’s hair just gets stronger and his moans louder—his hips even start to make tiny thrusts when Clay does the little twirl of his tongue.

Clay decides he likes sucking Tony’s dick.

“Do that again Clay, it feels  _so_  good—“

So he does, he laps under the head, the taste of him getting stronger and he feels Tony getting harder too. Clay focuses his attention to the tip of Tony’s dick, giving up trying to get all of him inside his mouth for the time being. He runs his tongue over the slit and licks around the head multiple times, flicking back and forth. Tony groans and starts thrusting gently into Clay’s mouth as he keeps up his task. Clay moans around him, trying to loosen his jaw so there’s no possibility of any teeth. Tony speeds up his thrusting, fucking into Clay’s mouth, but never pushing past the point where Clay couldn’t go farther. Clay looks up at him then, watching the way Tony’s body undulates every time he moves, his mouth open and panting, eyes focused down on him—the sweat decorating his chest just visible under the dim light transfusing though the tent. Tony is beautiful and Clay grunts, the slide of Tony’s dick tugging at his lips.

He reaches around Tony’s thigh and starts tugging at his own cock, now fully hard and screaming for attention. Clay’s so close and he’s willing to bet Tony is too; his hips are moving quicker and less controlled, the taste of him taking on a new edge—something richer, deeper.

“ _Ah_ , Clay,  _fuck_!” Tony pants, eyes filled with awe as he looks down at Clay’s face. “I’m so close, mi amor, so fucking  _close_ —“

Saliva trickles from the corner of Clay’s mouth, he can feel it drip as Tony slides in and out, the flavor of him almost overpowering. He sees the intensity in Tony’s eyes as they lock again, fiery and ravenous, an expression that goes straight to Clay’s dick. He’s so close he has to slow down his stroking, even as Tony speeds up. Now Tony’s hands are both in Clay’s hair, gripping him tightly but carefully, anchoring him as Tony’s hips jerk forward, as that rich taste builds. Clay releases a muffled moan, lost in sensation, the noises Tony’s making losing all distinction, enveloping everything. He knows Tony’s right at the edge and he is too, one more twist of his hand is all he needs, the anticipation of Tony’s release making him both excited and curious.

He deftly flicks his tongue along the slit and Tony pants, “ _Fuck_ , Clay— _Clay_ , I’m—“ And Clay prepares himself as Tony does one last thrust and his dick pulses against his tongue, the new salty-tangy taste of come bursting forth, overwhelming as Clay gives himself one last jerk and comes hot across his belly.

Tony spasms and chuckles as Clay works his dick for all he has, tenderly stroking through his hair even as Clay winces at the unexpected flavor, swallowing everything in two little gulps. He definitely likes sucking Tony’s dick, and come doesn’t taste too bad, but swallowing might not be something he wants to repeat. With a last caring glide through Clay’s sweaty strands Tony removes himself from Clay’s mouth and bends down, kissing him passionately.

Clay sighs into it, knowing Tony can taste himself on his lips, relaxing into the familiar comfort of Tony’s mouth. He might swallow again if it meant Tony would always tug at his lips like this, if his tongue would explore with such casual vigor every single time, but maybe swallowing didn’t have anything to do with their perfect kiss. Perhaps Tony just felt what Clay was beginning to notice in the fading afterglow—the new intense sense of closeness after sharing such an intimate act.

Tony pulls back and smiles down at him, hair thick with drying sweat. “Mm, you’re perfect,” he says, fingers running along Clay’s jaw.

Clay flushes and bites his lip, immensely happy. “So you liked it? It wasn’t bad?”

“‘Wasn’t bad’ is an understatement,” Tony chuckles, his smile widening, “You’re so sexy, that—that felt more like making love. It always feels that way when we’re together, just now—I don’t know… I’m at a loss for words.”

Tony looked so happy, his eyes subtly alight in the darkness, his face earnest and beautiful. “I feel it too,” Clay whispers, bringing Tony down for another kiss.

Tony deepens it by gripping his jaw, his breathing even and slow as they lazily mouth at one another’s lips. He retreats suddenly though, a quizzical expression overtaking his face. Clay’s brow furrows, “What is it?”

Tony pulls back and looks over his shoulder. “Uh,” his head swivels back, voice tinged with humor, “I think you, um, got some come on my back…”

Clay snorts, snickering to himself. “Sorry!”

“No, don't be!” he laughs, moving so he’s no longer straddling Clay. “We need to clean up anyway.”

Tony hands him some of their 1-ply toilet paper, taking a wad to clean himself. After deciding he’s sufficiently wiped and dry Clay tosses his toilet paper into the paper bag they’re using for trash and Tony does the same. Tony then lays down and conforms to Clay’s side, absently stroking his chest as he pillows his head on Clay’s shoulder.

They lie there in silence, cuddling and breathing, wrapped up in fleece blankets and sleeping bags, enjoying the warmth of one another. Crickets and wandering wildlife rustle outside their tent, the wind whistling through the trees and leaves. It’s peaceful, Clay feeling completely comfortable, Tony’s even intake of air soothing him and making him yawn. He wants to stay like this with Tony forever, naked and safe. Clay looks down at his boyfriend’s dozing form and smiles. He pulls Tony a bit closer and kisses his forehead.

“I’m tired, we should go to sleep.” He brushes his hand up Tony’s back, getting his attention, “Goodnight Tony.”

Tony yawns and blinks up at him, smile easy and loose. He still looked half asleep. “G’night Clay…”

He lightly kisses Clay’s collarbone, melting against him as he drifts off to sleep. Clay closes his eyes and does the same, confident no nightmares would assault him as his thoughts begin to fade.

Tony was there against his side, thick arm across his belly—a nightmare was nothing compared to the weight and love of the boy next to him. 

Nothing could ruin the peace falling over them then, there in the still darkness of the forest.

**-~o~-**

Bright light shone through fanning leaves onto the hood of the Mustang, glinting white, which was pretty fitting seeing as the classic Gorillaz song ‘White Light’ started playing at that exact same moment. Clay nodded along, wind tugging at his hair as it gusted through the window, the smell of forest never once leaving his nose since they left the campground. He watched the towering trees off to the side of the road pass out of his field of view. They would approach quickly, reach a certain point where they appeared to slow down, as if in stasis, and then disappear in a flash over his shoulder. It was mesmerizing and calming, exactly the type of thing his therapist told him to focus on if he was starting to feel anxious.

There was no anxiety though, hadn’t been for awhile now, only peace. It was crazy to consider how literal physical distance could help him so much. And when they did have to go back home he knew Tony would be there, even more so than before. It felt freeing in a way, to feel like he was on top of himself, that he was getting better. And a lot of that feeling came from being with Tony, though Tony wasn’t necessarily actively trying to help him in that way. But he’s there, in a way that nobody else has ever been, and it made Clay think about how utterly lonely he used to feel all the damn time. It wasn’t like his anxiety and depression had been magically whisked away, they weren’t gone forever (Clay didn’t want to delude himself like that, not again), instead he just felt confident that he could handle those aspects of himself better than before—with a new perspective. And someone who he could trust and confide in, completely.

So Clay let the song wash over him with the wind, the scent of trees perfuming the leather interior, and enjoyed the gentle arcs of Tony’s thumb against his thigh. Tony’s hand had been there since they hopped into the car after returning their camping equipment, a constant during the drive that was a lot like Tony himself. Reliable and comforting.

Tony stopped his arcs and pinched him slightly. Clay turned to him, eyebrows raised—it was impossible not to smile at Tony’s playful smirk. “You rang?”

Tony huffed out a laugh, his smile broadened. “I was wondering if you wanted to stop and get lunch somewhere.”

“Oh yeah, sounds good! I’m pretty hungry.”

“Me too. Look a place up, or we can just stop at the next restaurant that looks half decent.”

“On it,” Clay said, fishing his phone from his pocket.

There weren’t many options along their stretch of Interstate 299, and the nearest place was in the town of Burney. Which they had just passed through a few minutes ago. So unless they wanted to turn around… Clay followed their route through the next few towns, he didn’t want to backtrack.

“This place looks good,” he noted, scrolling through the pictures on the Yelp page he’d been redirected to. There was a  _California United Against Hate_  sign prominently displayed in the front window alongside an obviously hand-painted wooden menu. “Montgomery Creek Station Cafe. It’s in the next town we’ll pass through.”

Tony glanced at him and then back to the road. “What’s on the menu?”

“Usual American stuff. Burgers, milkshakes—pretty standard.”

Tony nodded and smiled at him, “Sounds good, let me know when we get close.”

Clay shifted his head in acknowledgment, eyes raptly tracking the route ahead. He didn’t want to accidentally miss the restaurant like he missed their turn on the initial drive up. He still felt bad about that.

Around 15 minutes later and their tires crunched over the gravel-strewn parking lot in front of their destination. The place was obviously situated off the side of the road, and was one of maybe three businesses Clay could see in the whole town of Montgomery Creek. He felt a little foolish for thinking he’d miss it.

A final mechanical growl and the Mustang came to a stop, emitting little clinking noises as the engine cooled down. Tony hopped out and examined the car, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, while Clay essentially tumbled out his door, stumbling up into a standing position without ever officially falling. One of his legs had apparently decided to fall asleep without telling him and betrayed his dignity, like usual. He shot an indignant glare over the hood at Tony’s startled snort, which just caused his boyfriend to start chuckling to himself as he trailed somewhere behind him while Clay began marching toward the Station Cafe’s front doors.

“Hey,” Tony caught up with him, his hand settling on Clay’s lower back as they entered the restaurant, “you okay there? That looked like a close call.”

The humor in Tony’s voice betrayed his intentions. “I’m good, just tripped over myself is all. Where do you want to sit?”

Tony’s eyes darted away from Clay and surveyed their surroundings. The interior somewhat resembled a barn; a long space with textured wooden floors and walls below open rafters framing a dark mysterious ceiling. It had rustic picnic tables and benches instead of typical tables and chairs, all arranged in haphazard rows along the faded Americana-plastered walls. At the opposite end was a marked bathroom door next to an opening in the wall which revealed a kitchen and cash register. The place was mostly empty except for a group of East Asian tourists quietly conversing over milkshakes and fries in the corner, and the idle staff visible amongst the shiny metal of the kitchen.

“Hm,” Tony shrugged, looking back at Clay, “anywhere looks good. How ‘bout that table by all those old movie posters?”

“Alright.”

The rough wood of the bench beneath him made Clay feel like he was back at the campground sitting by the fire. The laminate of the menu created an altogether different feeling in his mind as he perused it though; everything looked so good and he realized how hungry he really was. It had been a few days since he had anything that wasn’t cooked over an open fire, he was having a tough time deciding when the options weren’t just sausages and marshmallows.

Clay started briefly when he felt Tony’s leg rub against his own—since they were both wearing shorts Tony’s coarse leg hair tickled him slightly. He looked over the top of his menu and smiled at Tony’s attempt to remain nonchalant, but Tony couldn’t hold it and he smiled back, just enough for his dimples to shine through.

“You know what you’re gonna get?”

Clay shook his head. “I have some ideas. Nothing for sure though. You?”

“I think so,” Tony said, laying his menu flat against the uneven surface of their table. “When you decide I can go up and order for us. That’s how they do it here.”

“Really? How do you know?”

Tony reached forward and tapped at the top of Clay’s menu, where  _Please order at the counter!_  was typed out in boldface Comic Sans. Red, the letters were red and jauntily angled different directions. Clay had to hold back his laugh.

Tony grinned. “I can’t believe you didn’t notice that. It’s the first thing I saw.”

Clay looked down at the offending words on the menu and then back up to smile at Tony. “I guess I was too preoccupied with food to see it. Club sandwich with a side of curly fries, by the way.”

“Got it.” Tony maneuvered one leg over his bench to stand, but he stopped halfway. He turned to face Clay as he remained straddling the wood, “I’m getting curly fries too, and the picture on the menu shows a pretty big order. You want to share?”

Clay leaned back and blew out a dramatic breath. “Wow, um, so we’re sharing fries now? You sure we’re ready for that step in our relationship?”

Tony rolled his eyes but his lips were beginning to curl. “Now that you mention it, I don’t know… I mean, I’ve had your dick in my mouth—but sharing fries? Too far, man.”

Clay gaped and Tony started to snicker as he stood up. Clay felt his face begin to redden as he covertly glanced around to make sure nobody heard what Tony said, but thankfully the place was basically deserted. Tony was walking towards the counter at the far end of the restaurant when he shot a satisfied smirk over his shoulder, earning Clay’s returning glare. But the glare wasn’t that successful seeing as Clay began to chuckle and Tony’s smirk turned more sweet.

He suddenly looked down at his hands and the marred surface of the table, overwhelmed by the feeling of intense connection he shared with his boyfriend right then. It had bubbled up inside him shockingly quick and he hadn’t expected it. When he decided to look up again he saw Tony talking to the woman behind the counter and Clay was left to examine the colorful movie posters on the wall by their table.

“You like John Wayne?” Tony asked, setting their peaked order placard on the table as he sat down. He adjusted it so it could easily be read from the kitchen.

“Huh?”

Tony gestured to the nearest wall. “You were looking at those posters.”

Clay looked to where he’d been staring before Tony sat down. A ruddy John Wayne in a cowboy hat stared back at him. “Oh. I dunno, not really a fan of Westerns. Whenever they showed them at the Crestmont I wasn’t impressed by the flashy technicolor of his movies. I think those grittier Italian Westerns are more my style, they feel less like romanticized propaganda and more like real depictions of the time.”

Tony’s eyebrows arced. “You seem to know a lot about the genre for someone who isn’t a fan.”

“You’ve never had Coach Patrick for History, have you?” Tony shook his head and Clay anxiously picked at the table. “Lucky you. But anyway, it kinda went with the job. They always used to play the old movies at the end of the night, so… So Hannah and I would close up early and sneak into the back of the theater…”

Tony’s eyes looked guilty, Clay wished they didn’t—it wasn’t like he knew. “I’m sorry Clay—“

“No, it’s fine,” he interrupted, pasting on a smile he knew Tony didn’t buy. “I, uh, don’t want to watch old movies anymore though.”

Tony nodded, he reached under the table and delicately ran his hand over Clay’s knee. Clay sighed and relaxed, tension easing away. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Tony paused, shifting on his bench, “Um, I got us a bigger basket of fries to share, so I hope that isn’t actually a problem. For some reason they don’t usually do that, but since it’s so empty today Carla said it wasn’t a big deal.”

“Carla?” Clay’s smile felt more real now.

Tony had to have noticed, he looked more relaxed. “She’s the waitress today, or at least the person at the cash register. She’s nice.”

“I was just joking earlier—I don’t care if we share food. As long as we  _share_. Fifty-fifty.”

Tony laughed. “I know. You say that like I’ve stolen food off your plate before.”

“…A guy can never be too careful.”

“I do seem to remember you trying to steal some of  _my_  fries though…”

Clay brought a hand up to his chest as if affronted. “Slander!”

The slight smile that always adorned Tony’s face when they teased back and forth widened. His cheeks looked so pinchable, Clay wondered how Tony would react to that. “Hm, I don’t think so. I have an excellent memory.”

“If you say so. The elderly always say that, but they’re usually wrong…”

Tony laughed again, Clay was so glad the beautiful sound was because of him. Tony’s face lit up and then came back down, his smile still present on his plush lips, “Did you just call me a grandpa in a roundabout way?”

Clay grinned. “You said it, not me.”

Tony shook his head, leaning back to amusedly stare at Clay. “Unbelievable. I’m not even a year older than you!”

“And yet you act  _so_  much older—“

“Food’s up guys!” A voice exclaimed, Clay stopping short. The source of the voice, a woman with a laden platter and an overly-starched apron, came over to stand at the end of their table. “Here’s our special Station Club for you, a Cheeseburger Classic for you, and a big ol’ basket of curly fries for the two of you. And here’s the check. Come up and pay when you’re ready, there’s no rush.”

Clay looked down at the plate placed before him. He was again reminded of just how hungry he really was. “Wow, that was fast!”

The lady winked at him. “That’s how it is when you order during a lull,” she said, placing two thick plastic cups full of water on either side of the table, picking up their order placard afterwards. “Now, please don’t hesitate to come up and ask for anything else, it’s no bother.”

Tony smiled politely up at her, “Thanks Carla, this looks great.”

She smiled and retreated back to the kitchen, leaving them to their meal. Clay took the toothpicks out of his quartered sandwich as Tony dressed his bun, eager to get down to it. He didn’t want any small slivers of wood getting in his way.

“Do you always learn the names of your servers?” he asked after a few bites.

“Yeah, it’s the least I can do. I can’t imagine what it’d be like to serve people all day and have none of them ever address you by your name.”

Clay paused mid-bite. “That’s so thoughtful of you.”

“Well, y’know,” Tony dipped a fry ringlet into some ketchup and chewed, “I try.”

Clay nodded, smiling to himself before taking another bite of his sandwich. Tony’s thoughtfulness was definitely one of the things Clay loved the most about him, it was a central part of what made Tony such an amazing person. Tony smiled back at him, though there was no way he knew what Clay was thinking, and they continued to enjoy their food in a typical silence that Clay would’ve found awkward had he been with anyone else.

“So,” Tony began once he finished most of his burger and Clay had practically inhaled half his own plate, “how’d you like camping?”

“I liked it a lot actually,” Clay said, almost surprising himself at the realization. “We should do it again sometime.”

“Yeah?” Tony beamed. “What was your favorite part?”

“Oh, well, the trees and hanging out with you mostly. And, um, last night.”

Tony’s beam turned to a pleased smirk. “I liked last night too.”

Heat settled over Clay’s cheeks as vivid memories replayed in his mind. He smiled coyly at Tony and then down at his plate, only to look back up to see Tony’s dimples again. “It got me thinking about what’ll happen when we get back home though. Are there any good campsites near where we live?”

“Tons. I know a few that my family used to go to all the time. Why?”

“Well, it’s different here because it’s just us two all the time, but back home… Being able to just get away from everything with you, like even just for a weekend, would be pretty cool.” Tony nodded and Clay reached under the table to squeeze his boyfriend’s knee. “And we might not get enough alone time with our parents around all the time either.”

A weird look settled over Tony’s face, like he just remembered something. “Ah, I didn’t even think about that! And we won’t be able to sleep in the same bed every night too… The occasional camping trip sounds like a good plan.”

Clay frowned, the prospect of sleeping without a Tony-lump pressed against his side wasn’t all that enticing. “ _Ugh_. I guess we’ll have to have sleepovers all the time too, and regularly scheduled camping weekends—why do we have to go back again?”

Tony grinned. “Are you proposing we run away together?”

“…No,” Clay buried his face in his palms, “…yes.”

Tony laughed, his hands gripping Clay’s wrists and pulling them away from his face. “It’ll be fine Clay, we just have to adjust. Besides, we have two more weeks here, we don’t have to think about this stuff just yet.”

“…So that’s a no to running away with me?”

“At least until we graduate, yeah,” he stated dryly, eating another fry.

Clay snorted, “I’ll hold you to that, by the way.” He looked down at their plates, mostly cleared of any food. “So are we done here? I need to go to the bathroom, so I can get us some boxes if you want. And pay.”

“I just have to finish my burger. Go for it.”

“Alright,” Clay stood up, grabbing the check, ”be right back.”

Tony’s eyes crinkled a bit, contentedly looking at Clay before going back to his burger.

It was the little looks like that, Clay thought as he strolled past empty tables, that demonstrated how easily they clicked together. Tony’s look was a simple display of something genuine, but it was enough to reassure the more insecure parts of himself that typically raised questions about the intentions of those around him.

Clay knew he could trust those eyes and that handsome face for what they were, and the fact Tony seemed serious about still being together after their graduation, both in conversation and when they teased each other, made it clear what his intentions were. Every moment being with Tony was dusted with welcome little reminders of possible permanence, and though they were moving fast those little reminders were exactly what Clay wanted. He wanted permanence with Tony, had for months, even though the feeling was then associated with friendship. Now things were different and they were so much more than before, in his opinion they were better.

Clay smiled at no-one in particular as he turned the knob to the bathroom door; he knew he could trust Tony with anything, but it was the constant little signs and things his boyfriend did that really drove the point home. Clay supposed Tony had always made it clear, even at the beginning of the whole tape ordeal, that he’d always be there when he needed him, but sometimes it took a long time for things  _said_  to become things  _known_. And now it would feel so foreign not to trust Tony. Clay had shown him everything, more than any other person—both physically and not. It made him feel vulnerable, sometimes even slightly scared, but that’s what it took to truly trust someone. And Tony had done the same with him, probably felt something similar, and the trust he’d given him in return was something Clay coveted. He never had that before, this new type of mutual understanding and trust, but to Clay it was still so obvious in every brief look and loving gesture. Even a passing eye crinkle—Clay almost disturbed the antibacterial haze floating around the bathroom with a laugh—could lead him down the path of contemplating trust and the state of their relationship.

Clay washed his hands and examined himself in the mirror, allowing the urge to smile change the neutral expression reflected back. His mind could think about Tony and trust and everything good going on in his life in tight repeating circles forever. He found himself lost in similar reflective thoughts almost all the time when he wasn’t focusing on anything or was doing some menial task. But he hadn’t really focused on how he was starting to like himself better again, like he had before Jessica’s party and the months of misery afterwards. He found that looking at his face staring back at him, at the eyes Tony had called stunning that very morning, that he liked himself just a little more than he had at the end of the school year. Whether that was due to Tony or his own newer view of himself—or some Frankenstein mixture of the two—he didn’t know. But it was a good start, it was the start of getting better.

He dried his hands and double-checked to make sure his fly was up. With one last appraising look in the mirror Clay went back into the restaurant, feeling a bit more confident than before. He let the bathroom door swoosh shut behind him and was shocked to find a line at the counter. A line made up of only one person talking to Carla, but a line nonetheless.

Clay walked over and stood behind the man ordering, idly staring at the  _We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone!_  sign above the counter, just to the left of a large menu board next to a series of familiar stickers he recalled seeing around Evergreen. The stickers were hard to see, but Clay knew they were vehemently anti-fascist and anti-racist in nature, if anyone bothered to actually read them.

The guy in front of him seemed to be super specific with his order and Carla looked a bit put off, so Clay prepared to wait and let his eyes wander further than the wall before him. There was two other new guys sitting at a table near the tourists in the corner, who were now talking louder in either Mandarin or Cantonese, both of them probably friends of the guy berating Carla about the desired amount of mustard he wanted on his sandwich.

Clay winced at the guy’s tone; why placing an order was such a serious ordeal, he had no idea. Line-Douche’s friends didn’t look all that friendly or polite either and were shooting significant glances at the tourists’ table and chuckling between themselves silently. There was a twinge in Clay’s gut that told him something wasn’t right.

Clay frowned at the unsettling feeling, without really knowing why.

He shifted on his feet and looked at Tony messing around on his phone before looking back at Line-Douche; Carla was obviously losing her patience but their interaction thankfully seemed to be coming to an end. As Clay watched the back of the douche’s baseball-cap-clad head he couldn’t help but feel that something was _off_  about the guy. His camo-print jacket looked way too hot for the warm weather and it was covering a lot of his neck, and the thin athletic shorts he wore seemed disproportionate to his skinny paper-white legs and big clunky boots. Which were Doc Martin’s like Tony’s but were covered in mud and scratches, not meticulously oiled and cared for like everything Tony owned. The wrongness only grew the more Clay looked—was that an arm of a swastika on the knobbly bit of the guy’s neck, sticking out from beneath his jacket where it slipped? It was when the douche finally snatched his order placard and turned around to head to his table did Clay really get a good look and realize who he was looking at.

Clay froze in place.

It was that guy, that neo-Nazi with the big truck he saw over a week ago.

There was no way to see the  _1488_  on his neck with his jacket pulled so high up, but it was the same guy, no doubt about it. His sallow bony face Clay wouldn’t easily forget with how they stared at each other, and as the neo-Nazi walked by him Clay knew he had to keep his face as neutral as possible. He kept looking forward, as if examining the menu over the counter, hoping the pile of garbage on legs wouldn’t notice him. But right after he passed him Clay thought he could see the guy do a double-take out of his peripheral vision.

Clay’s hands balled into tight fists.

“Come on up, weren’t you already served?”

Clay looked away from the menu and pursed his lips at Carla’s words, hoping the guy hadn’t heard her. He walked up to the counter, refusing to look back.

“Oh, um, yeah. I did. It was really good.”

There was a hint of a smile on Carla’s lips, but she still looked at him oddly. “It usually is, but don’t tell Tiff I said that.”

“…Erm.”

“What do you mean  _usually_?!” A voice called out from somewhere behind Carla.

“You misheard what I said Tiff, I said it’s always good— _always_!”

There was an answering grumble but Clay couldn’t make it out. He could see Carla’s eye roll though, and her grin. “So, since you already ordered, I take it you’re here to pay?”

“That’s right,” Clay smiled weakly and dug out the check and his debit card from his pocket, handing them to Carla. “And I’d like a box, if you have any.”

“You bet your pants I do,” she said, bending down to sort through things under the counter. “That everything?”

Clay felt like the back of his head was being stared at. “Um…”

“Well, here’s your box, lemme just run this through…” Carla trailed off, inserting Clay’s card into the reader.

Clay cradled the box and debated whether or not to tell Carla about the white supremacists in her restaurant. He figured she wouldn’t be happy about that. She smiled at him and handed back his card.

“Thanks.”

“It’s nothing, I’m glad you enjoyed the food. Stop by again, anytime.” Carla’s smile fell somewhat as Clay stood rooted in his spot. “…You can leave now if you want. Unless you want to stay and chat a bit like your nice friend.”

“Oh, he’s my boy—“ Clay stopped. Out of all the things they talked about, what to introduce each other as to new people wasn’t one of them. “—he’s my friend, yeah.”

“So you wanna talk, I see.”

“Kinda,” Clay muttered, venturing a glance over his shoulder. Tony was still tapping at his phone, safe, but the bigger of the neo-Nazi’s two friends was staring back at him—hard. The friend’s eyes narrowed and Clay quickly looked away. “Okay, so. I think you should know something about those guys who just came in.”

Carla looked past his shoulder curiously, “You know them? They’re certainly eyeing you up…”

“Not really, but I’ve seen the guy who just ordered before. And I see all the stickers and signs you’ve put up too, so… Well, I think you should know he’s a neo-Nazi. What you do with that information, I don’t know, but it seemed like—“

Carla put her hands out. “Hold on there, calm down.” She looked past him again, her eyes calculating and serious. “How do you know? But now that I’m looking… They sure do look like a bunch of skinheads.”

“The guy who ordered has a ‘1488’ tattoo on the side of his neck, and I think he might have a swastika on the back.”

Clay could only assume she made eye contact with one of them, due to the grimace now clouding her features. She then took in Clay’s face, with it’s definite nervousness. “Okay, I’m willing to believe you.”

Clay swallowed the lump in his throat. “Um, what’re you going to do?”

“Just go back to your friend, we’ll take care of it…” Carla looked past him once more, squinting and nodding slightly. Clay turned and began walking down the length of the restaurant, hearing over his shoulder, “Tiff! Stop that grill, get out here. Be ready with the bat!”

Clay fast-walked back to their table then, ever mindful of the eyes following him. He didn’t look though, he didn’t need to, he just needed to get away from those dangerous men. He needed _Tony_ away from them. Tony could take care of himself, Clay had seen him fight before, but he didn’t want to take any chances whatsoever when it came to people with inherently violent ideologies.

Tony smiled as he looked up from his phone, but it immediately dimmed. “Hey, what’s wrong? Something happen?”

“Yeah, we have to leave,” Clay said, hastily stuffing the remainder of his sandwich into the box Carla gave him. “Did you notice those guys who came in while I was in the bathroom?”

“…Yeah. They didn’t look very approachable.” Tony stood up as Carla stormed out of the kitchen, heading toward the guys in question. “Clay, what’s going on? You’re kinda freaking me out.”

“One of those guys is the guy who was in that truck at that gas station. You know, the skinhead who stared at you?”

Tony looked over his shoulder at the table full of skinheads, scowling. They didn’t look very happy at the way Carla was talking to them. “I don’t know which one you’re talking about, but they’re definitely all ugly enough to be white supremacists.”

Clay let out a bitter laugh, reaching for Tony’s hand. “You bet, that’s why we need to go. Come on…”

Tony grabbed his hand tightly but he stood still, taking in Carla and the neo-Nazis. Clay could see Line-Douche, the truck guy, zero in on their joined hands. Tony positioned himself between those piercing, accusing eyes and Clay, largely blocking his view.

“Shouldn’t we stay and help?” Tony asked, his voice on edge.

Clay saw Carla’s no-nonsense stance and a black woman with a bat and a greasy apron, probably Tiff, standing by the kitchen counter. He also saw the man with the neo-Nazi tattoos ignore Carla as his friends argued with her, instead maintaining his stare across the restaurant. Clay could barely see him over Tony’s tense shoulder, studying them like some unpleasant curiosity.

“It looks like Carla has it under control, I think she has experience with stuff like this. Let’s just go, before they’re kicked out—can you see the way that guy is staring at us?”

Tony gave a single nod, his eyebrows furrowing as he stared back. The man sneered in disgust. “Okay, let’s get outta here.”

Clay expelled a relieved sigh and tugged at Tony’s hand, the two of them basically jogging out of the restaurant.

He could feel the man’s eyes track them, violating in a way he’s never experienced, but Clay didn’t care. He only cared about Tony’s fingers intertwining with his as the restaurant doors clattered shut behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was super fun to write, so I hope you guys liked it!
> 
> Only a few more chapters to go! I've been having a good time with this fic and I'm thankful for all the feedback, I highly appreciate it. I just hope the ending is satisfying! :P


	8. 68' Mustang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter, and now we're even closer to the end! Enjoy!

** -~\O/~- **

 

The Sun was higher in the sky, beating down heat and making the dusty air thick as Clay led the way across the mostly-deserted parking lot towards Tony’s car. It wasn’t far, and Clay’s sense of urgency had lessened slightly, but the quicker they left the better.

Tony was easily keeping pace with him but he suddenly lagged, tugging on Clay’s hand.

“Wow, that’s a beautiful Pontiac GTO.”

Clay slowed and turned his head to follow the direction Tony was looking, off to the side near the supermarket next to the restaurant. A beefy black muscle car was parked there, its grill was split down the middle by a bulbous nose-looking prong and it had two white stripes with red outlines tracing up the hood and over the roof. It looked almost mean, but cool too.

“I like yours better.”

Tony glanced away from the black car and grinned at Clay, the sight immensely calming. “You better. She can hear you, you know. It’s a good thing you didn’t insult her.”

Clay chuckled, feeling better now that they reached the Mustang. He wondered if Tony was attempting to help him relax. “She can, can she? Does she talk too?”

“She can if you know how to listen,” Tony said, untangling their fingers and quickly circling the car. Tony hopped in and leaned over to unlock Clay’s door.

“And I assume you know how to listen to it—erm— _her_?” Clay asked, ducking into his seat.

Tony laughed, and the last of Clay’s worries disappeared as the engine roared to life. “Oh, you bet. I’m pretty good at it, car language. My dad is better of course, but I’m getting there.”

Clay nodded, he’s spent countless evenings in the auto shop doing homework while Tony worked on different cars. Consequently he’s spent a lot of time thinking about Tony’s greased up hands. He knew Tony and his dad had rebuilt the Mustang from the ground up, and he was glad for its reliability and speed now they were cruising down the interstate, putting Montgomery Creek far behind them.

“So,” Tony’s eyes fell on Clay before focusing back on the road, “should we talk about what happened back there?”

Clay fiddled with the lukewarm box balanced on his lap. “I don’t know, I’d rather not. I think it’d be a good idea to hole ourselves up in the cabin for the rest of the trip though, since we keep running into white supremacists whenever we’re out.”

“That can be arranged,” Tony said, his hand coming to rest casually on Clay’s thigh. He looked at him briefly again, his face kind and eyes soft, but he also exuded this odd seriousness. “I do want to tell you something, before we try to forget what happened.” He paused, collecting himself. “Clay, I’m relieved that you actually take those people back there seriously. People who believe what they do… It’s not a joke, and it’d be so easy for you to not get involved, like so many others. And I appreciate that you want to look out for me—but you have to tell me before you go rile up a potentially dangerous situation like that. I want to be prepared if any shit goes down, you understand?”

“I think so. I would’ve told you first, but that guy recognized me and I was already talking to Carla… Those people really fucking scare me Tony, they’re like the physical embodiment of pure evil! I don’t feel safe around them, and what they believe… It’s just sick. And wrong. I just wanted us out of there as fast as possible.”

“I get it.” Tony gripped the steering wheel harder and stared down the curving interstate. “I can’t really tell you not to be scared, but I think giving them your fear gives them too much power. Be wary of them, but don’t forget they’re just people. And like most people you can beat them by outsmarting them, and fear can get in the way of that. I’m not saying what you did was wrong, or that you weren’t smart about it, but just consider what I said.”

Clay rested his hand over Tony’s, squeezing it. He could see Tony’s grip lessen on the steering wheel. “I will, I promise,” he said. They held hands in silence for a moment, before Clay sighed and pushed his head back against the headrest. “God, what I’d give to be teleported to the cabin instantly!”

Tony laughed, lifting Clay’s spirits, letting the subject be changed. “We’ll be there soon enough. What’s the rush?”

“Besides the obvious? I guess I just want to relax and get back into the vacation groove. I’m not really in it now. The goal of this trip wasn’t to deal with more stupid shit, I almost feel betrayed.”

“I feel it, I feel derailed after lunch and all that bullshit…” Tony paused, looking thoughtful and more at ease. "Any idea what you want to do when we get back?”

Clay thought for a moment. “I don’t know… Maybe we could hike along the river or something. I need to walk around or do something active.”

Tony bobbed his head easily, “We could do that,  _or_ …”

“You have a better idea?”

Tony shot him a smirk that promised many delightful things. “My idea involves us getting naked, so probably.”

“Oh…” Clay leaned slightly closer to Tony, returning his smirk. “Already onboard then. What’s the idea?

Tony grinned, looking far more delighted than flirty. “Skinny dipping.”

“That’s definitely active.  _So_  onboard.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Clay brought their joined hands to his lips, planting a kiss there before dropping them back to his thigh. “It’s kinda ridiculous how hot you are without any clothes on, I’d take any chance I get to see you all naked.”

Tony chuckled, but it wasn’t as full as usual. He shifted in his seat slightly. “It’s dangerous to say stuff like that while I’m driving…”

“Why?” Clay smiled, he hoped it looked alluring. “You getting hard?”

Tony laughed, “Is this the Jensen brand of dirty talk?”

“Maybe. Is it working?”

Tony gave him an appraising look, one that made Clay feel the stirrings of arousal. “Definitely.”

“See, this is why I want to be teleported to the cabin.”

Tony smiled and Clay really wanted to kiss him, but he was driving. “That makes more sense now than it did before, that’s for sure.”

Clay laughed, Tony looking at him with that adorable love-struck expression he sometimes got as they stopped at a traffic light. Clay recognized the place, the next light was the turn to the cabin. He looked back at Tony, knowing he probably looked just as enamored, the expression there lasting for a long comfortable second before Tony’s eyes shifted to look curiously over Clay’s shoulder. Clay didn’t like the sudden change of Tony’s features, the momentary surprise passing over this features, so he turned to look out his window. Nothing was there.

“Did you see something?”

Clay turned back to see Tony readjusting and looking into the rearview mirror, a more neutral and wary expression on his face, like he was trying to remain calm. “Are those the guys from the restaurant?” he asked carefully, gesturing for Clay to look into the mirror.

Clay floundered, shocked, blinking before shifting to look.

Behind them was that black muscle car from outside the restaurant, the faces of two of the neo-Nazis from earlier present behind the windshield, the shadowy figure of a third present in the back seat. They were hard to make out through the tinted glass and they weren’t too close, but Clay could see the baseball cap Line-Douche was wearing and it was easy to recognize their facial features. Clay was taken aback by the sudden sight of them, he began to feel a little anxious.

“Yeah—that’s them. Do you think they’re following us?”

Tony had a stony mask of an expression plastered on, which only made Clay more worried. “We’ll see,” he said. The light then changed to green and Tony accelerated, hugging the speed limit through the intersection.

“Did you see them in my rearview mirror or something?”

“Exactly. I noticed the car first, but I noticed them a second later.” Tony glanced at the mirror, then back to the road. “Do you see them?”

Clay peered into the mirror just beyond his window. Due to their speed they were already far from the intersection, so the lack of a car right on their tail meant they weren’t being actively chased, but… “I see them! They’re going super slow, but they’re there.”

Tony nodded, briefly looking back to the mirror. To Clay it looked like their possible pursuers were going far under the speed limit, the black muscle car barely through the green light. “That’s suspicious,” Tony muttered.

Clay’s gut churned, followed by a wave of nausea. “Yeah…”

“It’ll be okay Clay, I promise. We just have to figure out if they’re following us or not before we head to the cabin.”

“Why?” Clay was beginning to feel overwhelmed.

“We don’t want them to know where we sleep.”

Clay involuntarily shivered. “Yes—of course, I wasn’t thinking—“

Tony’s hand landed on Clay’s shoulder, he squeezed tightly. His face was soft and steady, reassuring, “It’ll be fine, I think I have an idea."

Clay took a deep breath. “Okay—good. Let me know what I can to do to help.”

“Nothing right now,” he said. They were nearing the light where they would turn to head up to the cabin. Tony pulled over to the gas station on the corner, maneuvering behind a fuel semi truck. “How close are they?”

“I can’t see them, the road bends too much.” Clay watched the back window, the golden grass draping the rolling hills on either side of the interstate rustling in the slight breeze.

“Good.” Tony twisted in his seat, looking over his shoulder. He then turned to Clay, “Okay, so here’s what we have to do. We stay here and wait for them to drive by. If they continue on we know they aren’t following us. If they stop here we know they are.”

“What if they stop? What then?”

“Then we drive to a Police Station, or try to outrun them.”

Clay nodded and looked out the back window again. “ _Can_  we outrun them?”

Tony smirked, a relieving sight. “You fucking bet we can.”

“That’s, uh, good to know…”

Tony reached out and touched Clay’s cheek. “It’ll be okay, I promise. Can you see them?”

“Not yet.”

Tony eased back into his seat, slowly breathing in and out. “Should I put on a tape?”

Clay huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, because now’s the time for music.”

“Hey, some music would really help right now! Lighten the mood or something.”

Clay laughed outright this time. “What would you even play at a time like this?”

Tony paused, thinking. “Honestly? No idea.”

Clay shook his head, smiling. He knew what Tony was trying to do, and he was succeeding. “Fine, put on whatever. I’ll keep watch—what type of car is it again? I mean what it’s called, I know what it looks like…”

Tony repositioned himself, looking out the back window along with Clay. “It’s a Pontiac GTO, I think it’s the same year as the Mustang. The GTO is one of the classics, man. I’m pretty sure it’s the model that basically popularized the muscle car. I  _really_  hate the fact those scumbags own something so beautiful.”

“Ah.” The Pontiac came into view then, from where the interstate curled around a low hill. “There they are, should we act normal?” Clay asked, some nervousness creeping into his voice.

“That’s the idea, but try to keep your eye on them.”

Clay nodded shortly. He twisted around to face forward while Tony took out a map of California from his door pocket and pretended to look it over, all while Clay tracked the Pontiac out the corner of his eye. He could tell Tony was looking too, even as he randomly flipped the map over again and again.

It was like the other muscle car was taking a leisurely stroll, rolling easily over the fairly fresh asphalt of the interstate without any sense of urgency. They were still going super slow, other cars continued to constantly pass them, but however suspicious their speed may be it didn’t look like they were trying to follow them either. They were just… Driving. Like a geriatric. As the Pontiac got closer it made no move to turn into the gas station, the driver sticking to their lane instead. It drove out of view then, now hidden behind a huge semi truck in the process of pumping fuel to the underground tanks feeding the gas pumps. Clay could see the red light just beyond the cab of the truck and the Pontiac hadn’t gone through the intersection yet, so they had to be stopped there.

Clay let out a breath, breaking the tense silence. “Looking good so far…”

“Wait till they’re gone before we start celebrating.”

Clay nodded again, watching the intersection and the red light which seemed to stretch out forever. Tony was watching too, abandoning all sense of fake normalcy. The longer they waited the more anxious Clay felt, it really didn’t help that they couldn’t see their possible stalkers. He reached out to grip Tony’s leg, the answering hand covering his own making him feel better. Slightly.

Then the light changed and the Pontiac drove through the intersection along with a few other vehicles. They watched as the black muscle car curved out of sight until it was completely gone, hidden behind rolling hills.

Clay felt Tony’s hand loosen around his, he hadn’t noticed how tight they’d been gripping each other. He looked at Tony and saw careful relief in his eyes, his face a little less stoically serious. That had to be a good sign.

“So… They weren’t following us?”

“It looks that way.” Tony granted him a small hesitant smile. “But we should wait here for a few minutes before we leave.”

“In case they double back?”

Tony nodded. “Right, in case they double back.”

“Okay.” Clay leaned back, attempting to relax. He couldn’t completely tear his eyes away from the direction the Pontiac had gone, though. “In that case, maybe now you should put on some music. A good stakeout demands good music.”

Tony chuckled and his smile grew. Clay had no idea how he came to possess the remarkable power of making Tony Padilla smile, but he was glad for it now. Whenever Tony smiled he knew things were going to be okay.

“So  _now’s_  a good time, huh? Let’s see what I have…”

Tony flicked through his tapes until he found one that fit the adrenaline cool down they were both experiencing. And 10 minutes later, once Tony refilled the gas and the Pontiac hadn’t made a second appearance, they were off again down the road leading up to their cabin.

It would’ve been nice if the air could clear as they drove away, but even as the road narrowed and the trees got taller, while the intervals between mailboxes increased until mailboxes disappeared altogether, Clay wasn’t able to fully calm down. Tony couldn’t either, Clay could tell with how he constantly looked in the rearview mirror. If the goal of those white supremacists was to intimidate them and make them on edge then they certainly succeeded. Clay hated that they had succeeded in anything, just wanting the odd mixture of anxiety and relief he felt to completely go away.

Clay was certain it would be fine once they got to the cabin, once they were safe.

He let the music probe his mind, breathing deeply. He paid attention to the receding trees, focusing his attention like his therapist suggested.

It wasn’t working.

**-~o~-**

“Why do you think they were driving so slow?”

Tony glanced at him momentarily, focusing back on the road since it was beginning to get especially curvy. “I don’t know Clay, but it was strange. Doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Yeah, me too,” Clay said, looking into the rearview mirror. All he could see was a big logging truck, the one that had been behind them for the last 20 minutes. “They probably noticed we saw them behind us.”

“Maybe. Or they were being careful with that car. As they should be.”

Tony didn’t look all that convinced of his own words, but it  _was_  a feasible possibility. “Or they were trying to intimidate us.”

Tony nodded, his mouth a grim line. “True. Or that.”

Clay clenched his hands in his lap, balancing his sandwich box on one knee. He stared at how the tendons moved under his skin and how his knuckles adjusted and moved in unison. He was starting to feel guilt well up inside himself. “I’m sorry Tony,” he blurted out, still looking at his hands. “This is all my fault—I shouldn’t have told Carla about them, maybe then—“

“Clay, stop.”

Tony’s voice was firm. It made Clay look up, Tony’s face was relaxed and sincere. “But—But if I hadn’t said anything—“

“You saying anything isn’t a justification for trying to intimidate someone, Clay. They were unwanted and got kicked out of a restaurant, they should know that’s the risk for being part of a despised hate group. I mean, you said that guy had more than one Nazi tattoo?” Clay nodded. Tony shook his head in disbelief, “That’s mind-boggling to me. Using those symbols, having them needled into your skin—someone who does that has to be seriously messed up, right? Who would do that as a fucking joke? No Clay, it’s not your fault. Intimidation is what those people do everyday. It was probably funny to them. Don’t feel bad about making their lives a little less easy because they couldn’t eat lunch at a restaurant.”

“I get that, but that’s not what I feel bad about. They deserved to get kicked out, worse, even! I’m sorry because I only wanted to get them out of our lives, but instead it’s like saying something provoked them and only made shit worse! I’m sorry because I don’t  _want_  to be intimidated, or in this situation. And now I’m on edge, worried that they’ll be waiting for us at the cabin—even though I know that’s impossible!”

“Clay—“ Tony breathed out, turning into the shoulder and stopping the car. “—C’mere, it’s okay.”

Tony unbuckled his seatbelt and spread his welcoming arms, Clay immediately doing the same and they hugged awkwardly over the center console. It was comforting and exactly what he needed, Clay clenched his eyes shut, tight, letting Tony’s rhythmic breathing and warm hands soothe his body. He wasn’t crying, he was just really upset, and he clung to Tony’s shoulder blades as Tony kissed him lightly on the neck.

“I’m sorry Tony…”

Tony pulled back a bit, but their arms were still around each other. The logging truck passed them, rocking the Mustang slightly. “It’s fine Clay, really. You did the right thing. We can take a little intimidation, it’s what makes us tougher so we don’t feel that way again.”

Clay nodded weakly. “I don’t feel very tough  _now_ …”

Tony smiled slightly, carefully. “It takes time. But just think how much better it is that they chose us to intimidate instead of someone easier to take advantage of—we can deal with it, even though it sucks.”

“ _Can_  we deal with it?”

“I think so,” Tony said, fully retreating and buckling up again, a signal for Clay to do the same. “And they’re far away now, and since we’re going to stay in the cabin for the next two weeks—“

“—We won’t see them again,” Clay finished, more at ease. He smiled at Tony, showing that he was alright, and went to buckle his seatbelt. But when he looked up, out the window, that smile slipped. “ _Tony_!”

“What?” From his peripheral vision Clay saw Tony look at him as he stared at the mirror before him. He could then see Tony turn to look at his own mirror. “Shit!”

Tony put them back on the road in an instant, maintaining a high speed as Clay kept his eyes glued to the visage of the black Pontiac in the rearview mirror. The split rectangular grill was obvious even though it was far behind them, just rounding a bend. It might be his imagination but it almost looked like it was—

“Tony, I think they’re speeding up!”

“Makes sense, that car is really good at straight-line acceleration.”

Clay tore his eyes from the Pontiac; Tony’s face was hard and set like stone, eyes focused only on the road and occasionally the center mirror. “But the Mustang’s faster, right? Why aren’t you flooring it?”

Tony bit his lip, eyes darting back and forth between the road and the mirror. Then they took in Clay’s face. “I’m testing them. I want to see if they’re trying to run us off the road or— I’ll speed up if it looks like they won’t slow down. Maybe they’re still trying to intimidate us, speeding up is giving into that, you see?”

Clay gawked, looking over his shoulder at the Pontiac rapidly approaching and then back to Tony. “That’s fucking crazy! We need to get away from here as quickly as possible!”

“Agreed, but we have to see their game first, we can’t mess around here…” Tony looked at him again, his eyes softening as he read the panic that Clay knew was on his face. “Clay, breathe, you trust me, right?”

Clay nodded, breathing in deeply. “With all my heart.”

That earned him a small smile that calmed Clay more than any breathing exercise. “Then trust me. Can you tell me how far they are, and if they’re still accelerating?”

“Okay, sure,” Clay gathered himself and looked out the back window. He was glad he couldn’t see any of their faces from this distance. “I, uh, dunno how far they are—maybe two city blocks? And they aren’t slowing down.”

“Fuck, that’s what I was afraid of—can’t believe they’re really trying to ruin that car…”

Clay’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“You’ll have to be my eyes Clay, the road’s about to curve again, you have to tell me where they are—hold on.”

Tony shifted gear and the Mustang accelerated, the engine getting louder. Clay was pushed back into his seat, still craning his neck around the headrest. “You weren’t lying when you said we could outrun them, like, trying to make me feel better or something?”

“Never, Clay—we can run circles around them. Especially on this road. GTOs are classics but they’re like boats on land, we’re way more nimble even if they can accelerate faster.”

Clay could see what Tony meant, even though the Mustang was probably going top speed the Pontiac was still gaining slightly. But at the first turn, as the road got steeper and entered a low wooded valley, the Mustang was able to turn and stay between the lines while the Pontiac swerved into the next lane.

“They’re getting pretty close Tony, I can almost see their faces.”

“Alright, let me know if it looks like they’re trying to surge forward and hit us. And what side they aim for if they make that move.”

Clay quickly swiveled to look at Tony. “You think they’re gonna hit us?”

Tony nodded, not looking back. The road was starting to hug one side of the valley, the drop off over the guardrail getting steeper. “Why else would they be going so fast? They want us off the road.”

Clay swallowed nervously, turning back to watch the Pontiac.

It was only a little closer now, and now that Tony voiced what he thought they were trying to do their aggressive driving made a lot more sense. The Pontiac would accelerate and gain ground when the road straightened out a bit, only to lose it again and fall out of sight whenever they took a turn. But they would gain again as the cycle repeated itself, and now it was becoming obvious that with every undulation of the road they would gain just a little bit more. The small gains were beginning to add up.

“Are we going as fast as we can?”

“No, but I don’t want to risk losing control—are they getting closer?”

Clay glanced back at Tony, taking in the precise movements of his hands on the steering wheel, and the disorientating view out the windshield. “Yeah, slowly. I’m worried that if the road straightens out again…”

“Got it. Turn around and grab hold of something, I’m going to put some distance between us.”

One last look, just long enough to be able to make out Line-Douche’s determined face behind the Pontiac’s steering wheel, and Clay pivoted to face forward, gripping his seat with both hands. Tony glanced over at him, probably making sure he was alright, before shifting gear and speeding up. They were about to go over a stretch of road Clay was familiar with: a series of tight turns and twists that followed the side of a torquing cliff face, right before the road evened out and got closer to the river. He knew their cabin was really close.

Clay’s jaw was clenched and his knuckles were ghostly white over smooth brown leather as they took the first turn, his whole body leaning heavily to the right. The Mustang veered into the empty oncoming lane, just like the Pontiac had done, but Clay could tell there wasn’t any drop in speed. They took the next turn, and the one after that, then another—it felt almost endless, like some sick rollercoaster, and Clay could see the intense concentration dominating Tony’s face as he made sure they didn’t careen over the guardrail. After every turn Clay’s eyes darted to check the rearview mirror, and after the third curve Clay was relieved by the lack of a speeding muscle car behind them. When the road began to straighten and dip down in elevation Clay was sure Tony noticed their pursuers’ absence, but he didn’t slow down, even as they whipped past the driveway to the cabin.

Clay looked over his shoulder, no sign of them yet. “So hiding at the cabin really isn’t on the table?”

Tony took one hand off the steering wheel, shaking it out. He then switched off, repeating the same thing, his hands coming back to the wheel much less tense than before. “I don’t want to get trapped down that driveway… All it takes is them blocking the way out and we’re screwed.”

Clay nodded, the fact they were being chased down finally sinking in, kind of. His mind felt numb but also focused, they had to get out of this situation. “So what now? We keep driving?”

“That’s kinda our only option at the moment, Clay.”

“Right. But shouldn’t we know where we’re going? Maybe I should call the police—the rangers, I dunno,  _someone_?

Tony worried his lip and Clay glanced over his shoulder again, the Pontiac just visible rounding the last curve. “Look at the map first, see what’s ahead,” Tony said, drawing Clay’s attention back, “then call the police. They won’t be much help right now, we can’t slow down, but maybe after…”

“Yeah, okay. On it.” Clay pulled out his phone, immediately tracking the road they were on, following it for a few miles ahead. Clay deflated, “Tony—this road is a dead end.”

“Oh.”

“It ends after a dam, on the other side of the river. There’s just state park ahead of us.”

Tony furrowed his brow and was exuding nervousness, sending a spike of fear through Clay’s body. He took deep breaths, hoping the fear would subside somewhat, he had to remain level-headed. Tony’s voice cut through everything, “We’ll figure out what to do when we get there, you should definitely call the police now.”

“O-okay…” Clay said, pulling up his keypad and looking out the back window. “They’re getting  _really_  close…”

“I know, I can see them!” Tony didn’t exactly shout, but Clay still jumped. “Sorry, just—just call 9-1-1, okay?”

Clay did as he was told, his fingers shaking as he dialed. The fear he tried to squash wasn’t going anywhere—the last time he was this afraid he was also in a car, but Alex had been the one behind the wheel. Just as he was about to press the little green phone icon the Mustang lurched, swerving, and Clay’s phone dropped from his uneasy fingers.

“Those pieces of shit better not get a scratch on my car!” Tony bristled, shaking his head angrily.

Clay didn’t know what happened, but he could see the Pontiac looming just behind them, and the sight of multiple sets of hateful eyes there sent him scrambling for his phone, trying to determine where it landed around his feet and among the spilled contents of his takeaway box. When he popped back up, phone in hand, the Mustang swerved again and Clay’s mind distantly registered the logging truck parked at the side of the road, the driver peeing in the trees. There was no way they could stop for help now though; the Pontiac revved and attempted to ram the rear of the Mustang, Tony dodging it somehow, cursing darkly under his breath.

Clay’s heart was racing and he remembered the phone in his hand, finally bringing it up to his ear. It rang briefly, an authoritative voice answering, “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“Y-yes—uh—“

“Sir, are you in distress?”

The Mustang lurched once more and Clay was thrown to the side. “Yes! There’s—we’re being chased, these guys are trying to run us off the road!”

“Is this happening now?” the voice asked, the sound of typing coming over the phone. “Can you tell me where you are, and do you think you’re in immediate danger?”

“Yes, right now! They’re right behind us, trying to ram us with their car—“

“Sir, I need a location, I can have a unit out there in a jiffy—“

“I don’t know the name—we’re on the road that follows the Pit River. It’s near Montgomery Creek. Oh—it’s the one leading to a dam, if that helps?”

More typing. “That’s perfect, I think I got your location. A unit is being sent out now, I need you to stay on the line until they—“

Suddenly Clay jerked forward, his phone clattering across the dashboard. The scraping sound of metal against metal filled the air, Tony’s hands dancing franticly over the steering wheel, keeping them from veering out of control. He looked absolutely livid, murderous even, and then the Mustang jerked forward again, the Pontiac nudging the Mustang’s rear fender for a second time.

“ _Tony_!” Clay shouted, his heart beating frantically as fear lanced straight through him.

Tony was seething, the most angry Clay had ever seen him, and didn’t react to his shout. If anything it looked like he was doubling down his focus on the road and driving, and Clay couldn’t blame him—he was the only thing between them and a horrific accident. Still though, the raw determination he saw in Tony’s eyes—it was oddly calming, but Clay had no illusion that everything was going to magically work out for the best. They had to work to get through this.

Crunching metal, squealing tires, and rumbling engines were the only things he could hear when Clay turned around once again, his neck aching from the constant unusual position. The blurred green and blue of forest and sky roared past them, light flaring over the glossy striped hood of the Pontiac. It looked like their bumpers were intertwined or something, the Pontiac’s fender scraping against the Mustang’s as they pulled apart and came back together when they took a curve, the grating sounds repeating with renewed intensity. Clay’s wide, horrified eyes tracked up the black hood and met the extended middle finger of the skinhead in the passenger seat, flipping them off out the window. The guy’s angular face mirrored the anger still present on Tony’s, and in that moment Clay didn’t really feel fear anymore, just a visceral disgust and fury from deep inside—he blindly reached for his phone again, realizing he needed to do something.

Clay disconnected from the 9-1-1 operator, whose alarmed voice he could still hear until he pressed the red disconnect icon and brought up his camera app. He pointed it towards the Pontiac, starting a video documenting the sneers and the Pontiac’s purposeful nudges trying to get the Mustang to spin out of control. It was easier to watch through the camera, even as panic flared within Clay when the road straightened again and the Pontiac advanced, the Mustang’s rear wheel almost lining up with the Pontiac’s front. He was recording as Line-Douche separated their cars for a moment before crashing back into the Mustang’s rear fender, violently smashing Clay against his door. But his phone only shook slightly in his tight grip, stabilizing when Tony regained control—it was capturing everything.

He just hoped he survived long enough to actually send the video to someone.

“Clay—are you—are you recording this?” Tony’s voice was hard to hear over the noise, but it sounded distracted, for obvious reasons.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea right?”

“Definitely. Keep doing it, make sure to get their faces! This is  _so_ fucked up.”

Clay nodded, even though he knew Tony wasn’t looking at him. He zoomed in on the guy who flipped them off, him being the easiest to see, and then panned over to Line-Douche, his  _1488_  tattoo now completely visible. The guy in the back was basically just a dark shadow—along for the ride. Clay bit his lip as he captured their faces; through their anger it looked like they were actually having  _fun_. Like they were getting some sort of sick childlike glee from what they were doing to them. The fury Clay felt deepened at the realization—he wondered if they’ve done something like this before.

Out of nowhere the scraping noise stopped and they sped up, no longer being dragged by the other car. Zoomed in the Pontiac’s windshield suddenly slipped out of frame, but around his phone Clay could see the Pontiac advancing alongside them, its nose inching into view over Tony’s shoulder, barely visible through his window. He zoomed out and tracked the car as best he could, but it was mostly hidden behind the Mustang’s rear roof pillar. The Pontiac’s low black fender was maybe a foot from the side of the Mustang and Clay didn’t want to dwell on what might happen if they kept gaining and smashed Tony’s window. It would be so _easy_ to do—would they be able to reach in?

“Tony, how are they—how are they so fucking fast?!”

Tony was intensely concentrated on driving but he shook his head, eyes darting back and forth from his mirror to the road. “It must be illegally modified or something—the Mustang should be faster, they shouldn’t be able to catch us—“

Tony cut himself off with a scowl and abruptly swerved closer to the shoulder on Clay’s side, butting right up against a low muddy cliff saturated with tree roots. The Pontiac had veered to the right, trying to hit them, and Tony must’ve swerved to avoid them. He made sure to get the cliff and their position on the video, and through the camera Clay came to realize that the skinheads were trying to pin them against the cliff. Tony probably thought something similar because he did something Clay didn’t expect, and Line-Douche probably didn’t expect it either; he swerved back and crashed against the side of the Pontiac, the distressed sound of metal crumpling making Clay wince.

“That’s right, fuck you!” Tony shouted, making the corner of Clay’s mouth twitch upwards.

Even now Tony could make him smile.

If he dies today, at least he’s with someone he loves.

He was shocked at the sudden feeling of acceptance, but instead of resigning himself to some possible outcome Clay let it fuel his anger at those who put them in this position.

”Yeah, fuck them!” Clay yelled, flipping off the neo-Nazis. They were more visible now that their cars were smashed together. He made sure his finger got in the video.

Tony grinned but kept his eyes on the road, the speed they were barreling down it still hard to comprehend. And now the Pontiac seemed to be stuck against their side, Clay could feel the Mustang shudder at every slight turn and subtle kink in the road due to the two competing engines. It was mostly straight now, thick trees visible over the Pontiac’s hood, sprinkled clusters of them filling the slope down towards the river. In front of them the road appeared to steadily decrease in elevation before it made a sharp turn to the right as the river did the same, the low mossy concrete form of a dam peeking up over the guardrail there, obscured by trees.

The road ended on the other side of that dam—Clay wondered what they would do once they got there.

“Tony, you see the dam?”

“Yeah,” he said through gritted teeth. The grin was gone, his fingers were gripping the steering wheel tight as he vied for dominance over the Pontiac. Clay could feel their constant nudges, trying to spin them out.

“What—what are we going to do?” Clay’s panic was starting to creep back stronger than before.

“Try to turn around or something. I’m not stopping this car with them nearby.”

“Alright—okay. This is going to work out…” He knew he was saying that mostly for himself.

Tony worried his lip but didn’t say anything, Clay continuing to film. To him it looked like they might actually be winning the fight for control, he thought he saw sparks fly as the Pontiac was beginning to push up against the guardrail. The panic in the eyes of the skinheads made him feel good too, finally they were feeling what Clay had been feeling for the last 40 minutes.

“I love you Clay.” The tone of Tony’s voice drew Clay’s eyes to him. Tony looked at him briefly, his brown eyes filled with a tenderness that made Clay want to cry. “This time with you—I couldn’t ask for anything better. If we don’t make it out of this, I want you—I want you to know now that it has always been you. And it will _always_  be you. I love you.”

A few tears fell from the corners of Clay’s eyes and he blinks them away, “I love you too Tony—being with you, it feels like—like I’ve actually learned how to live again. That’s what you’ve taught me over these last few months, on this trip. And—“ He looked over his shoulder at the Pontiac, sparks were definitely flying now. “—And we will get through this. We  _will_.”

Tony sniffs and Clay can see his hand on the gearshift twitch, like he wants to reach out. “I hope so Clay, I really do.”

The Mustang jerks to the right, the Pontiac attempting to unpin themselves, but Tony sharply turns the wheel and sends them back against the guardrail, sparks dancing and the sound of violent scraping overpowering everything. Clay’s eyes widen as he looks from the Pontiac to the road ahead, the sharp turn rapidly approaching with the speed they’re going. To Clay it looks like they’ll have to slow down to make the turn, either that or—

“Tony—“

He just nods curtly in response, obviously aware of what they’re heading towards. Clay sees a tear track on Tony’s cheek, shimmering as it dries, and it takes everything in his power not to reach over and wipe it away. All he can do now is trust his boyfriend, trust that he knows what he’s doing.

Clay grips his seat with one hand and continues to film with the other—he focuses back to the camera app and he gets a little thrill seeing the fear on the neo-Nazis’ faces. The thrill dies when the guy who flipped them off pulls something into view, something shiny and metallic—a gun. It isn’t big but it’s still there and they’re so close—fear and shock cloud Clay’s mind. But before he can say anything, warn Tony or even duck down, the high-pitched screeching of tires ring out, the Mustang fully pulling away from the Pontiac.

Tony makes the turn, right at the last second, and Clay sees the Pontiac rip through the guardrail and fly out into nothingness.

He sees it pause for a nanosecond, unmoving in the air, before the black muscle car tumbles down, sounds of snapping branches and crumpling metal audible in its wake. Then a series of splashes follow and then silence.

Sweet, sweet silence.

**-~o~-**

Clay’s knees shake as he stood before the gaping hole in the guardrail, the twisted ends on either side dangling out over the slope, frozen in their deformed shapes.

The trees were sparse there so he could see down the slope with ease, the sound of rushing water as it poured from the small decrepit dam off to the right soothing while the smoking wreckage on the rocky river edge was not. There was a muddy gash running down the hill littered with debris; broken tree branches, shards of glass, a tire—countless pieces that could never be put back together again. At the base of the slope, where the gash came to a messy end, was a pile of glossy black metal half-submerged in foaming water, dark smoke trailing up between the trees from what used to be an attractive hood. It looked like someone took the Pontiac and twisted it, the smashed-up front on a different angle than the mangled trunk, where the rear axle appeared to have been ripped away somehow. The roof had completely collapsed inward except for a rear corner too, the doors gnarled and flung out, twisted backwards like broken fingers—there was no sign of movement.

The water steamed and hissed a bit as the smoke slowly stopped and Clay realized there were other piles of wreckage dotting the hillside, rusted and twisted just like the Pontiac. Other cars overgrown with weeds and hidden amongst the boulders at the edge of the water, unmoved for decades. Some even had trees growing through them, both young and old. Clay’s knees continued to shake as he dwelled upon the very real possibility that they could’ve been down there, the Mustang the one mangled and broken among countless heaps of rusted metal instead of the Pontiac, and as he scanned the wreckage he still doesn’t see any sign of life—which could only mean one thing.

Clay’s gut twists uncomfortably and he has to look away, sagging into Tony’s side as he stands there next to him, also staring.

Tony’s eyes rip away from the wreck and they examine each other, making sure that  _yes_ , they were safe and still alive—shaken but unharmed. Clay feels like he wants to cry but instead he just grabs hold of Tony’s shoulders, pressing himself against Tony in an all-consuming hug. Tony’s arms come around him, clutching Clay’s shirt as if he let go Clay would disappear, burying his face at the juncture of Clay’s neck and shoulder. Clay holds the back of Tony’s head and rests his cheek against Tony’s temple, closing his eyes to the swaying trees in the distance and just breathing in Tony’s relief and sweat. They breathe together, staying intertwined for however long, the thump of Tony’s heart against his chest helping Clay calm down, helping him stay grounded when all he wants to do is scream for joy and confused anguish. He wonders if Tony feels the same way, if he was giving Tony comfort, too.

He pulls back and Tony’s hands trail down his sides, resting right above his hips. Tony’s eyes are alight but also somewhat sad, his brows scrunched in a curious way, like he doesn’t know whether to be happy or not. Clay feels like he understands that look and it fills him with relief, relief that they’re breathing and together.

Clay licks his lips, they’ve gone dry. “Are they…?”

Tony’s face hardens and he looks away for a second, but only a second. “Probably.”

“Should we go down and see, just in case?”

“Doesn’t look like there’s a safe way down, and it’s too late to make a difference anyway,” Tony says, the tendons along his neck taut as he clenches his jaw. “And they wouldn’t bat an eye if it was us down there instead.”

Clay purses his lips but doesn’t say anything, it’s not like he particularly wanted to go down there. Tony’s eyes go soft as they examine each other again, worry beginning to cloud them, and Clay feels his face go lax once again. He pulls Tony back into his arms completely, back into a tight hug.

“Are you alright?” Tony asks, muffled against Clay’s neck.

Clay doesn’t pull back. “Are you?”

“No, I feel pretty fucking messed up actually.”

Clay breathes out a laugh and retreats away from Tony, his boyfriend smiling up at him, but only barely. Clay knew he wasn’t joking, not really. “Yeah… Me too.”

“We got through it—we’re still here. We can heal.”

Tony’s voice was quiet and his eyes were tender, but Clay didn’t know how to heal, or how to comprehend what they just went through. “I— _God_ , Tony, one of those guys was about to shoot us!”

Clay remembered the shine of the gun, feeling woozy. Tony recoiled, “What?!”

“Just—right before we turned—they had a gun! We—we…” Clay gaped, blinking, “We’re really lucky…”

Tony’s mouth was open and Clay could see him inhale deeply, composing himself, before Tony rushed forward and brought him into another hug. It was as tight as the others but the hug was different somehow, had a weight to it that felt meaningful in an unusual way. Clay was just glad he could hold Tony like this, that he was still able to touch him. That he  _could_ —nobody had taken him away.

He realizes that he’s on the edge of hyperventilating and Tony was whispering soothing things against his shoulder, “It’s okay, it’s over—breathe Clay, we’re fine—they’re gone. I love you…”

Clay cradles Tony tighter against his body, if that was even humanly possible, the wind washing over them as Tony kept saying things and Clay breathed in the fresh air—willing himself to breathe slower and slower.

They had almost lost their lives—but against all odds they were still here.

He was so grateful that he had Tony, that Tony could drive like a professional and keep a level head. Grateful that Tony loved him and wanted him safe, the care Tony showed towards him unlike anything he ever experienced. Their love was new in the sense that they had only just gotten together, but after years of friendship and months of aching loneliness and longing Clay felt like he could understand what it meant to fully love another person. He so  _wanted_  it and he was reminded just how fragile existence could be. Sure, he’s been dealing with death for most of this last year, but Clay’s never experienced the terror of a close call, not like this, and he never wanted to experience it again.

He didn’t know if he could even step foot in another car.

They must’ve been tangled together, rocking back and forth, for more than 10 minutes and Clay finally felt more at ease, the anxiety from when Tony first pointed out the Pontiac in the rearview mirror now mostly gone, though a dull numbness was taking its place. Clay gently pushed Tony away, his brown eyes questioning but also more relaxed. “…What do we do now?”

Tony’s hand stroked Clay’s forearm gently while he contemplated the question. “I don’t know Clay. The police might get here soon since you called… I think I’ll call them and make sure they’re on their way.”

“Okay. I think I should call my mom…”

Tony nodded. “That’s a good idea, she can help us if the police don’t believe us. And we have that video too.”

“…I’m really glad I did that.”

Tony smiled, as if proud. “Yeah, good thinking on your part.”

Clay unhooked one arm from around Tony and scratched at his neck, mentally processing. “Jesus, Tony, what the  _fuck_  just happened? How can everything go from absolutely perfect to total shit so fast?!”

“I don’t know, I really don’t,” Tony says, hugging him again. Clay already craved Tony’s touch, but now he knew he’d never be able to let go of him again. “It’s shitty but that’s just how the world works sometimes, but it’s over now. We’re going to be okay.”

Clay breathes in the scent of Tony’s hair, clutching his boyfriend’s neck and rubbing his fingers against the soft skin there. “It’s over, we’re going to be okay,” he repeated Tony’s words, hoping they’d solidify in his mind.

And as they stood there gaining comfort from the other’s very existence, Clay thought that maybe it was true. He was going to be okay at some point. When the low rumble of a engine, belonging to the logging truck from earlier, made them look up, the distant sound of sirens proof that Tony didn’t have to call 9-1-1, Clay was actually sure he was right.

That maybe everything would be okay, at some point.

**-~o~-**

Clay blinked blearily, waking up from a dreamless sleep.

It was so nice to actually fall asleep again. The night before he couldn’t sleep a wink since he was so on edge, and the fact he couldn’t remember any dream, even a ghostly echo, was a good sign. He blinked again and shuffled around in his spot, now aware that he was sitting up with a thick strap securely across his chest, everything dark. Clay moved again and looked around, realizing he was in a car and it was dark outside, only the dim green illumination from the quiet radio providing any light.

Tony was driving and he hadn’t noticed he was awake yet.

That’s right, Clay remembers through the fog of sleep, they were heading home. It took a full day to deal with the police and have all charges against them dropped; they had been oddly adamant about prosecuting Tony for manslaughter. Luckily the video clearly showed the gun and Carla was able to provide the police with context, and in his statement the driver of the logging truck made it clear he saw the Pontiac hit them first so it was determined they were only defending themselves and were let go. Even so, it was like the police were foaming at the mouth to get them with something. Three people were dead after all, and Clay didn’t know how to feel about that just yet.

They were really lucky, is what he gathered.

Clay was thankful the whole thing was behind them. He only wanted to get home, back to Evergreen and a boring summer vacation. As long as he was able to see Tony basically every day it would be fine and he would be okay, they didn’t have to be out in the wilderness to have a good time. But leaving the cabin two weeks early was like coming out of a dream, and now they were heading back to reality. Where parents and curfew dictated their lives, and Clay could only imagine how his parents were going to limit his life now that he had an insane near-death experience.

Thankfully he was sure Tony wouldn’t be a part of any limitation. It was a relief his mom hadn’t seen the video of the chase, the love confessions he and Tony shared were captured and he didn’t want to think about how his parents would react to that. He’d tell them in good time, but he wanted to be unbothered by anyone while he and Tony settled into their relationship—which was especially needed now, after what happened.

He was still processing, honestly.

“Are you awake?” Tony whispered, reaching to turn down the radio even more.

Clay rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, I miss anything?”

Tony smiled that casual half-smirk of his, “Nah, just empty highway.”

Clay nodded and didn’t say anything, looking out the windshield at the light pooling on the asphalt, the onslaught of reflectors and white lines shining as the Mustang hummed along. In the distance he could see the silhouette of the horizon against the dark blue of the night sky, light pollution from San Francisco and Sacramento spilling into the heavens like a false southern dawn. But aside from the occasional light pole and taillights of cars far ahead of them there was only cool blackness surrounding them, as if they were in their own little world.

“Why,” Clay began, trying to put into words what’s been bothering him ever since the chase, “is my life like this?”

“Like what?”

Tony looked concerned, curious but worried. Clay wasn’t sure if he should talk about this now, but he had to, and Tony was the only person he felt could understand. “I’m not sure, just, when did my life start to revolve around death?”

“Oh. Clay…”

“No, I’m serious! In less than a year five,  _five_  people have died around me! And it would’ve been more if Alex hadn’t survived—when did death become  _normal_  for me?”

Tony’s eyebrows did this odd little dance and Clay felt guilty for unloading on him. “I don’t think I can answer any of those questions,” he said, checking the road before eyeing Clay again. “But you’re not alone Clay, the world isn’t out to get you or something, I’m in the same boat as you.”

“I know… I just want it to stop Tony, I don’t want anyone hurt. I’m kinda freaking out still, it feels like I’m to blame for all of it…”

“If you’re to blame Clay, than so am I,” Tony insisted firmly. “And it’s okay to freak out,  _I’m_  freaking out, I—” Tony’s voice went quiet, cracking, “—I accidentally killed people Clay—I-I wasn’t thinking of the consequences and—”

“It was us or them, though. Imagine if we kept driving—they had a gun, Tony. A  _gun_.”

Tony was silent. His face had a hard edge to it, his tough-guy mask anchored in place, but Clay knew he was only trying to keep his emotions in check. It saddened him that Tony felt he needed to hide them, though. He reached out and squeezed Tony’s thigh, rubbing his thumb over worn denim, “It’s okay, you’re not responsible. Shit just happens, isn’t that what you said?”

Tony nodded and his shoulders sagged. He glanced over, brown eyes glistening, “If it’s okay and not my fault then it isn’t yours, either. You see that, right?”

“I… I guess…”

“No,” Tony said, grabbing Clay’s hand mid-retreat. “Say it. Say it isn’t your fault, Clay.”

“‘It isn’t your fault, Clay,’” he parroted.

“I’m serious.” Tony’s eyes radiated hurt and Clay looked down at his knees, he hadn’t meant to sound so sarcastic.

“It’s not my fault.”

Tony cracked a slight encouraging smile. “That’s better. Keep repeating it until you believe it.”

Clay looked up, hesitantly smiling back despite the confusing emotions he was feeling. “You say it too.”

Tony’s smile widened, just a smidge. “Okay. It’s not my fault.”

“Good. Now repeat it whenever you doubt it.”

Tony laughed, taken aback, Clay realizing he missed the sound after a full day devoid of any humor. “I will, I promise.”

“I promise too.”

Silence fell over them then, the air filled with the quiet whoosh of wind against the Mustang. There was the burble of music coming from the radio too, but Clay could barely hear it—though it definitely helped him relax. He felt better now, with Tony’s warm hand holding his own, his stubby fingers caressing his knuckles with utmost care. Clay knew the feeling wasn’t permanent, that he would feel bad about what happened for a long time, but that was for future him to worry about. And he knew Tony would be there to help him through it.

He glanced down at their joined hands laying intertwined on top of Tony’s tape collection, Tony swiveling his head to smile at him again, now sweet and loving even though his eyes still seemed slightly on edge. Clay smiled back at him and tightened his hold on Tony’s hand, hoping that Tony knew he’d be there for him too, no matter what.

“You know,” Clay began slowly, “even though everything went to shit I’m still glad we went on this trip.”

“Yeah?”

“Of course. I got to spend it with you.”

Tony bit his lip, probably an attempt to stop a larger smile from overtaking his face. He wasn’t very successful. “That’s a good point, I’m a pretty fun guy to be around.”

At that Clay grinned. “Sure, that’s the first thing on the list of Tony Padilla’s greatest qualities: he’s a fun guy.”

Tony chuckled, shaking his head. “…You’re ridiculous.”

“You bet. It’s why you love me.”

“Sure, partially.”

Tony squeezed his hand and Clay relaxed back into the leather seat, looking at the dark road ahead with drooped eyes.

“How long do you think it’ll take my parents to realize we’re together?”

Tony looked at him curiously. “You don’t want to tell them?”

Clay shook his head. “No. Not because I’m ashamed or anything… I think I just want you to myself is all. With my parents I’m sure there’ll be some sorta circus—this is the first time I’ve been in a relationship, you know.”

“I get it, we should let the dust settle before we tell them—you tell them, or whatever. I’m fine with working on your time, whatever makes you comfortable.”

Tony’s face was serious but easily read, relaxed, watching him speak made Clay smile again. “Thanks for being so understanding.”

Tony noticed him smiling and smiled back. “It’s nothing. Is it okay if I tell my parents though? They’ll figure out I’m with someone really fast.”

“I guess so, they don’t really talk to my parents so it should be okay.” He paused, thinking deeper, “It’ll be weird having other people know that I’m your boyfriend though…”

“Partner,” Tony interjected.

“Partner?”

“Yeah, I honestly prefer it over boyfriend, it feels… More substantial. More accurate to how I feel about you.”

Clay played with his seatbelt, his face flushing. “Partner…” He tested the word on his tongue, the weight of it.

“Is it okay? Calling you that?”

Tony’s eyebrows were high and Clay could barely contain his giddiness. Partner implied a permanence he could barely comprehend. Tony was his  _partner_. “Yes! I—yeah. Partner is cool…  _Cool_.” He leaned over, bringing their tangled hands up and kissing Tony’s. “You’re my partner. We’re basically cowboys.”

Tony cackled, his surprised laugh shaking him, the Mustang could barely keep to their lane. Clay had to laugh too, when he saw Tony’s reaction. Tony caught his breath, “Okay—maybe boyfriend  _is_  better…”

“Nope,” Clay shook his head, “too late, partner.”

Tony laughed again and Clay found himself actually happy to be going home. It wouldn’t be scary with Tony—together they survived a fucking  _car chase_ , for heaven’s sake—home they could handle.

Home is what he was looking forward to.

With his partner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I wrote a chapter that basically only takes place in a car, I certainly hope I pulled it off! When I was plotting everything out this was originally going to be the end but it felt too sudden and kinda cruel, so next chapter will be similar to an epilogue but not how you think. I'm curious to hear whether or not anyone picked up on this car chase/car accident thingy prior to this chapter, because I certainly sprinkled some hints! :P And Tony definitely is that guy who prefers partner over boyfriend, someone else pointed that out and I'm onboard 100%. These dumb boys, guys, I swear...
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading! I'm excited to wrap this up!
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **EDIT: Just a heads up, the next chapter might be a bit late (like a few days at the most) because a lot has been happening in my life recently and I also have to redo the second half of Chapter 9 due to corrupted files. I'm just glad I had a mostly-done backup! Thanks for the patience! :)**


	9. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay but here's the last chapter, finally! 
> 
> It's been such a journey and I thank everyone who's given feedback, it means a lot and I'm glad to be able to share this with you.
> 
> Enjoy!

**-~\O/~-**

 

The swirling stars of the Milky Way lit up under the stray light beams of passing cars, dim streaks of light casting through Clay’s window and hitting the ceiling above him every few minutes. He liked looking at the poster above his bed, it reminded him that everything was insignificant in the scope of the universe, the Sun being only one of billions of stars twisting around the massive black hole at the center of the galaxy. Yet, even insignificant, the cruelty of the world still affected him, but it was sometimes nice to remember that everything everyone thought was important really didn’t matter. It let him brush shit off, but it also led him to thinking about what was actually important. And in Clay’s opinion the important stuff came down to how he interacted with others, how people dealt with other people, and finding people he could genuinely be himself around.

He wondered if that was depressing, but he felt like he was just being real. Everything really did boil down to how people interacted with other people, and though Clay sometimes found himself not caring what others thought of him he knew he’d try to make his interactions with others as pleasant as possible—not out of fake cheer but out of genuine care for those around him. He figured if everyone had his mindset maybe the world wouldn’t be so shitty.

But it  _was_  and Clay really couldn’t do much about it, so he just rolled on his side and looked out across his room.

He had just woken up from a dream.

One filled with screeching tires and hate-filled eyes, black Pontiacs and the sound of crumpling metal. Sometimes he had nightmares where  _they_ were the ones to break through the guardrail and tumble down to the river far below, the Mustang caving in around them. Those were probably the worst ones, he could remember the terrified look on Tony’s face as they careened through the air, even now his fists reflexively tightened at the thought. He still had dreams about Hannah, but the dreams about the car chase were almost worse due to their freshness and how close they actually came to dying. Because somewhere along the line the fear of losing Tony replaced all other fears in Clay’s mind, and his dreams always reminded him how all it took was one wrong turn and they wouldn’t be here, right now.

Dim light swept over his room once more, the curtains too thin, and Clay’s vision whited out for a moment, his eyes not fully adjusted.

The makeshift bed his mother laid out for Tony on the floor next to his bed was rumpled and empty, just like it was every night Tony slept over. Clay could feel Tony shift behind him and press himself against his back, Tony’s hands snaking around him, one resting on his chest and the other on his belly. He felt the tension slowly dissipate from his body, his breathing evening out before he realized how short and fast his breaths had been. He pushed himself back into the safety of Tony’s arms, his partner’s gentle exhale of air warm on the back of his neck, and one of Tony’s legs crept between his own, tangling them up. Tony was such an octopus when they slept. Clay loved it.

It was honestly pretty amazing how quickly he adjusted to another person’s touch, especially for someone whose only physical interaction with his parents consisted of the occasional fumbling hug and awkward shoulder pat. But with Tony, even on that first night, his touch was like coming home, or something else as ridiculously cheesy. It was what was behind the touches that calmed him, that made him feel safe, and sometimes feeling Tony’s skin against his own was the only thing keeping him going. It wasn’t magically healing and it didn’t replace his pills, but when he was about to have a panic attack the subtle weight of Tony’s hand on his arm would remind him that he was loved and made it just a little bit easier to calm his mind and breathing.

It was scary and amazing how Tony had that power, but Clay knew he possessed the same power over Tony too. All it took was a hand on Tony’s thigh and he would relax, or a light kiss to make him smile—a playful tickle for him to loosen up. They both needed each other, it was abundantly clear now. Clay would’ve been worried about appearing clingy or awkward in the past but the foundation of their relationship was one of familiarity and he couldn’t find it in himself to be nervous about how he expressed his love.

He was glad he didn’t have to worry about stuff like that.

“…Clay?” Tony asked suddenly, his voice thick with sleep.

Clay jumped within the confines of Tony’s arms, he hadn’t expected Tony to be awake too. “Yeah?”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Clay affirmed with a move of his head and Tony pressed himself more purposely into his back. His arms tightened and he pressed a kiss to Clay’s shoulder blade, breathing deeply against his neck. Tony barely sounded more awake than before, his voice fraying groggily at the end.

“Nightmare?”

Clay snuck his fingers around Tony’s hand resting on his chest, increasing the pressure of his grip. “Yeah.”

“Wanna talk ‘bout it?” Clay was sure he felt Tony’s eyelashes flutter over his skin as he attempted to blink himself awake.

“No, not yet.”

“Okay,” he said. There was silence for a few heartbeats, then, “I’m here when you’re ready… Always will be.”

Clay smiled to himself. “I know, thanks.”

“Good… Remember—” Tony yawned, his cheek coming to rest against Clay’s shoulder. “—I love you.” And before Clay could say it back he heard Tony’s soft snores return, his best friend and partner falling back to sleep.

Tony’s subtle exhale of breath warmed Clay’s skin and he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have Tony, even if his luck in other areas seemed to be subpar at best. He wiggled his hand under Tony’s where it was clinging to his chest, Tony’s hand reflexively tightening around his, a firm pressure that had Clay scoot back against him, seeking more of his warmth. The sound of Tony’s light snores made his eyelids heavy, the heat of Tony’s body and the comforting weight of his arms and legs shrouding Clay in a veil of safety and love—chasing away the residual thoughts and images of his nightmare. He knew Tony had an inkling of what was going on in his most recent dreams, but he never forced Clay to talk about them. Clay would, eventually, but he was tired of all the emotions and thoughts his dreams inspired so he didn’t want to bring them up. And besides, Tony was helping him by just being his usual caring self and by being there basically every night since they got back, either in his bed or Tony’s.

He was pretty sure his parents knew something was up between them, but it didn’t bother him like he thought it would and they never brought it up—for now it was an ideal situation.

Through half-closed eyes Clay saw another wave of headlights cast through his window, illuminating his room and all the memories he associated with it growing up. All throughout middle school Clay would play video games with Tony on his tiny TV in the corner after school, and if Skye was with them he’d beg for a quick game of Cataan, afterwards they’d all be doing homework and helping each other with the difficult stuff. When he entered high school Clay remembered sitting alone on his bed listening to music trying to push the numb feeling of loneliness from his mind, wondering why Tony and Skye had changed so much, why they felt like strangers and looked like different people. Opening Hannah’s box of tapes all those months ago swam into his mind too, and all the sweaty nightmares and sneaking out and anger that followed. And now, with Tony, there were new memories being formed more vivid than the bad ones, heightening the good ones at the same time.

“I love you too,” he whispered into the silent air, a gentle snuffle from Tony the only sign of a response.

He smiled contentedly to himself, pressing back into the rhythm of Tony’s breathing, letting the rise and fall of his chest lull him into a dreamless sleep.

**-~o~-**

A knock on Clay’s door made him jump, glancing away from his reflection in the mirror. He was glad he had door privileges again, not that he was doing anything embarrassing, but…

“Yeah?”

“Can I come in?” His mother asked, voice muffled by wood.

Clay looked back to his reflection, not happy with how his hair was turning out. He wasn’t used to it being so long. “Sure.”

The door creaked and his mom poked her head through the gap. He could see her smile in the mirror and turned around to greet her when she entered the room, her smile widening as she took in his appearance.

“Why, don’t you look handsome!” she cooed, reaching forward and adjusting his collar. Annoyingly Clay could feel his cheeks heat up. “What’s the special occasion?”

“Nothing, uh, just wanted to look nice…”

“Really?” His mother’s eyes were vibrant and alert, Clay really liked how happy she looked.

He smiled at her. “Yeah, really. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing.” She looked like she was trying not to say something, even as she smiled and undid the top button of Clay’s dress shirt. Her hands retreated, smoothing out his shirt as they went, “I just came up here to let you know that Tony is downstairs, also looking quite handsome, I might add. You two going to a party or something?”

“Uh…” Clay knew his cheeks were red now, and he didn’t like how his mom seemed to examine every feature on his face. “No? I mean, I don’t know—I hope not, parties aren’t really my thing. I don’t know where we’re going…” He trailed off, scratching his nose.

After examining his face for a long second his mother nodded, appeased somehow. “Alright, well, I hope you have fun doing whatever it is you’re going to do. Just be smart, okay? And let me know when you’re going to be home, or if you’ll be staying at Tony’s tonight.”

“Sure, got it,” he said, grabbing his phone, noticing he had five missed texts from Tony. He attempted to avoid any further questions by maneuvering around his mom and sliding through the door.

A hand gripped his elbow. “Not so fast, Clay.” He turned around and suppressed a groan, but his annoyance quickly faded. His mother was looking at him sweetly, gently rubbing his elbow. It wasn’t an expression he saw on her face often. “I’m glad you’re happy, I’m really glad.”

Clay saw her other hand twitch, like she was unsure what to do with it, so he stepped forward and hugged her. “I’m glad too, mom.”

His mother let out a content sigh and squeezed him, pulling back after a moment. She looked at him like she saw him completely, for the first time in a long time. She nodded again, totally retreating her hands, “Have fun, be safe!

He smiled at her, nodding, before turning to jog down the stairs. His mother might not know how to be fully present all the time, or compromise, but she loved him and was happy for him. He wasn’t sure if she knew exactly  _why_  he was happy, but that didn’t really matter because the source of his happiness was leaning against the wall next to the front door. Tony heard him approach and looked up from his phone, a slow smile spreading over his face, his dimples becoming more prominent as the corners of his eyes crinkled.

Tony was beautiful. His leather jacket clung to his broad shoulders and was loosely open in the front, revealing a white V-neck underneath whose neckline was just low enough to show off the fringes of his chest tattoos. Tony’s hair was slicked back and curled off to one side in his usual style but for some reason he looked more put together than normal. Maybe it was because his jeans looked new and were definitely tighter, showing off his thick thighs and butt, or maybe it was because Clay knew they were about to go on a date.

A  _real_  one.

Clay had to stop himself from kissing Tony right there in the foyer. It was difficult, but he was pretty sure his mother was watching them from the stairs.

He cleared his throat. “Really? You couldn’t give me a heads-up?”

Tony chuckled. “I tried to text you, man. I thought you were asleep or something.”

“I was busy getting ready, sorry.” Clay ran his hands over his thighs, keeping them from reaching out and touching Tony. He added in a quiet voice, “You look so hot right now. You know how hard it is to keep my hands off you?”

Tony smirked, pushing off from the wall and entering Clay’s space. “Look at yourself, Jensen, it’s hard not to jump you right here with your mom watching. You should wear fancy shirts more often,” he whispered lowly, his hand resting lightly on Clay’s lower back. Clay shivered as Tony retreated a bit, calling over Clay’s shoulder, “Bye Mrs. Jensen! Hope you have a nice evening!”

“You too, Tony! Have fun!” So she  _was_  watching from the stairs, Clay thought, finding himself escorted out of his house by the gentle guiding of Tony’s hand.

“Asshole,” he said without any venom, earning him a raised eyebrow from Tony as he opened the car door for him. Like some kind of gentleman.

Tony circled the Mustang and slid into his seat, turning to face Clay and say something but Clay had a better idea. He leaned over and captured Tony’s lips with his own, canting his head so they could fit closer together. Tony immediately responded, teasing his lips with his tongue and gently gripping Clay’s neck as he pushed deeper into his mouth. Clay sighed through his nose, running his palm over Tony’s chest, darting under his collar to feel his heated skin. It had only been a day since they saw each other last but it felt like eternity, and a kiss was definitely the best way to get reacquainted.

Tony’s tongue exited his mouth and with a last gentle nibble of Clay’s lips Tony relaxed back into his seat. “Not that I’m complaining, but making out in front of your house probably isn’t the best idea if you want to keep us a secret from your parents.”

Clay shrugged, smiling, still feeling the ghost of Tony’s lips. “I think my mom suspects something already. She asked me why I dressed so nicely today.”

Tony’s eyes ran down and then back up Clay’s body, biting his lip. “And what’d you say?”

“That I just wanted to look nice…”

Tony laughed. “And she accepted that?”

Clay shrugged. “She’s really happy for me.”

“Maybe she does know, then. She’s probably waiting for you to say something.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured. I’m not ready for that yet.”

“Well, whenever you’re ready I can be there.” Tony smiled and ran his hand softly along Clay’s thigh. “…If you want.”

Clay caught Tony’s hand and tangled their fingers together. He loved holding Tony’s hand. “Plan on it,” he said, shifting to look through Tony’s tapes. Unfortunately Tony had to separate their hands to start the engine and shift out of park. “So… Where are we going?”

They were already down the block but not heading towards downtown Evergreen, which was the direction Clay expected.

“It was awhile ago but do you remember our first date plans?” Tony asked, keeping his eye on the road.

“We’re going to see Ant-Man 2?”

Tony nodded, looking pleased. “Yeah. Thought it’s been out long enough for the theater not to be too busy. And I know a theater you might like out in Oakland, far away from anyone who would bother us.”

Clay smiled, finally choosing a tape and putting it in. “Sounds awesome. I like not having to worry about anyone seeing us and assuming something and having to hear about it later through a sly text. That happens, right?”

Tony shook his head, laughing. “Does it?”

“I don’t know. Seems like some bullshit that might happen to me though.”

“Hm, yeah. Better keep a look out for the paparazzi.”

Clay chuckled, feeling light and happy. “I’ll let you know if I see any cameras.”

Tony shook his head in that fond way of his, allowing the music to wash over them as they lapsed into a pleasant and thoughtful silence. 

“Speaking of cameras,” Tony mentioned later, right as he turned onto a highway onramp. “…My mom wants a picture of us. Together.”

Clay looked over from where he was examining the passing houses behind the sound barrier. “Why?”

“I, uh, told my parents about us last night.”

Clay expected to feel a spike of panic but it never came. Instead he just felt… Relieved. “And your mom’s response was to ask for a picture?”

Tony laughed like he always did when talking about his family, quiet but full of love. “Yeah. She has this photo album full of my brothers and their longterm girlfriends, and I guess she’s saved a few pages for me? So she needs pictures. Oh, and you’re invited for a special dinner this weekend.”

“So I take it she approves.”

“Yup. My dad too, but he doesn’t get all weepy like my ma… It’s weird but it feels like she knew this was going to happen.”

Clay grinned. “Maybe our mothers have been conspiring to get us together since we were kids. This is all just part of some ultimate plan they’ve concocted over the last decade…”

Tony laughed again, but it was his ‘Clay is being ridiculous’ laugh, which honestly might be Clay’s favorite. “I bet she’s had our page laid out since we were in middle school. With stickers and everything.”

“Did she ever ask for pictures when you were with your exes?” Clay asked, suddenly curious.

“Huh… No, she never did.”

Clay felt like his stomach just did a somersault. “A conspiratorial plot to get us together is sounding more and more likely…”

Tony’s dimples flared even as he rolled his eyes, “I guess we won’t know unless we ask her after dinner on Saturday.”

“Jokes aside, I’m really looking forward to that. It’s going to be  _so_  good.”

“Oh yeah, you bet. I think she’s planning on going over the top—it’s gonna be as good as the movie we’re about to see is bad.”

Clay laughed, earning Tony’s pleased and slightly enamored smirk. “I’ve heard it’s the absolute worst!”

Tony laughed too, “I haven’t heard a single good thing either—it’ll be a total shit-fest!”

Clay simmered in his giddiness, looking forward to the scathing whispers he’ll be sharing with Tony in the theater. “I’m excited, then. For the movie and the dinner.”

Tony glanced over at him as they entered the Caldecott Tunnel, the roar of tires increasing in the confined space. He reached over and thumbed at Clay’s thigh, his large hand coming to rest a little too casually there.

“Yeah, me too.”

**-~o~-**

Clay was about to wipe the butter flavoring from his fingers on his jeans but thought better of it, nabbing a flimsy napkin from the dispenser next to the soda machine to use instead. He stood there, awkwardly positioned next to one of the trash cans in the lobby of the theater as he waited for Tony to come back from the bathroom.

Clay was basically the only person there since all the movies were going full-swing and he was actively avoiding the looks he was getting from the fellow teens manning the concessions counter across the room, looking at him like they knew why Tony and him were leaving.

And maybe they did, Clay thought, aware of how the way he was standing might make him look guiltier. He didn’t want his natural awkward tendencies to ruin the evening. But that familiar antsy feeling was already slowly spreading across his fingers now that Tony wasn’t there, Clay constantly aware of the not-so-subtle annoyed glares being shot his way even though he refused to meet them.

At least they hadn’t been kicked out. Yet. They still could be.

It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t stop laughing, okay?Or Tony’s either! The movie was just so  _bad_  and Tony’s hushed observations so  _funny_ —and when Tony was snarky it was basically impossible not to pile on and before they knew it they were being shushed by every other person in the theater. It was only like eight people, max, since the theater was empty, but Clay still felt horribly embarrassed even though he was frankly tired of caring.

He was a fan like everyone else in the theater too; just because he recognized the fact that since Black Panther all Marvel movies have pretty much been shit didn’t mean he wasn’t having a good time. Or that he hated the comics or the characters! Their snickering couldn’t be  _that_  distracting, could it? Regardless of fault they decided the movie wasn’t worth their fun being dampened so here Clay was, patiently waiting for Tony so they could leave. Trying to dwell on all the amazing little moments he and Tony had shared instead of on everything else; definitely attempting to ignore his trepidation at being singled out in a public place and the subsequential embarrassed panic.

Everything was going great, really, other than the embarrassment bit.

The way Tony immediately lifted the armrest between them so they could sit closer like they did when they watched movies on Clay’s bed, Tony’s arm coming around his shoulders like a very public claim,had made Clay smile back at him excitedly, but nervously too. Because everything about this was official, this was a real date, and Clay couldn’t fully wrap his head around it. And then there was how Tony leaned into his space when Clay whispered something into his ear, his shoulder firmly pushing against his own, or how Clay did exactly the same when Tony responded. Or the way Tony’s smile looked in the wavering blue light of the screen when he laughed wide and free, the sight one of the most beautiful things Clay has ever witnessed. So beautiful that he was only paying attention to the movie so he could say sarcastic things to make Tony laugh like that again… Maybe it was no wonder they couldn’t tell how loud they were getting, too focused on each other to think about the other people sharing the theater.

So maybe it was their fault, but whatever. Clay decided not to care, something he was getting better at and something he hoped his therapist wouldn’t call denial. He cared, but maybe no longer about what strangers thought of him in the moment. The guys behind the concessions counter probably thought he was a giggly menace, but screw them. They were leaving before they could get kicked out, and Clay decided not to feel bad about that either.

He also decided that he didn’t care about the people shushing them in the theater, or that they saw him and Tony wrapped together in a way that couldn’t possibly be read as strictly platonic. The popcorn had been balanced half on Clay’s thigh and half on Tony’s, their heads mere inches apart when the first scandalized shush came. The sound had popped their bubble and Clay hated that his first reaction was to jump away from Tony like he was being electrocuted. But everything was still new and Clay still had this weird battle raging in his mind over being proud of his relationship—wanting the world to know how happy Tony made him—and being an inherently private person with no desire for the attention of strangers. He had recovered from his instinctive jump quickly enough, and in anger he shushed the shusher right back, startling them into silence. Knowing that next to him Tony had been holding back a laugh (but ultimately failing) made him feel just that much better.

It got awkward after that. Once they quieted down and the shushing stopped the movie simply wasn’t fun anymore, so that’s when they decided it was time to leave.

That wasn’t that long ago, now.

“Sorry for making you wait,” Tony said, startling Clay out of his reverie.

“It’s all good,” Clay says, moving from his spot next to the trashcan and falling into place beside Tony. “I’m glad we’re finally leaving though.”

Tony bumps his shoulder against Clay’s bicep as they pass through the theater doors and into the late afternoon sun, his small smile making Clay feel all warm inside. “Yeah, that movie  _sucked_.”

“Like, seriously bad—I can’t understand how  _that_  cost millions of dollars to make.”

Tony’s smile hadn’t faded. “Next time we want to make fun of a bad movie we should do it in private—do you think those people actually thought what we were seeing was any good?”

“Probably. They seemed like those fanatics who’ve seen it a bajillion times already.” Clay had to sidestep closer to Tony to avoid someone walking the other way on the busy sidewalk. He didn’t move back. “Sucks that I kinda want to see the end though, I bet it would’ve been hilarious!”

Tony nodded, his small smile turning to a grin. “If you want we can watch it at my house when it’s released. I promise we won’t be shushed.”

Clay snorted a laugh and the back of Tony’s hand brushed against his own. “Sounds awesome. What’s the plan now that we’ve kicked ourselves out?”

Tony shrugged. “Uh, you want to get some frozen yogurt? There’s a place around the corner.”

“Huh. I didn’t take you for a fro-yo type of guy.”

“I’m not,” came Tony’s quick response. Clay raised an eyebrow and their hands brushed again. Tony’s cheeks darkened, “You speak of this to no one.”

Clay put one hand over his heart and raised the other so it was slightly higher than his shoulder—a joking oath. “I promise your dastardly secret is safe with me.”

“So dramatic,” Tony muttered, some laughter creeping into his tone, reaching up to pull Clay’s hand down. Clay felt Tony’s hand begin to retreat and before he could think too much about it Clay flipped his over and wiggled his fingers between Tony’s, not letting Tony’s hand go anywhere.

Tony looked down at their joined hands between them as they kept walking, then back up to Clay’s face. For a second Tony’s eyes were wide with surprise but then his face relaxed and that adorable shy smile Clay loved so much made an appearance, Tony’s fingers giving his own a gentle squeeze. Clay bit his lip and squeezed back, looking down at his feet because he wasn’t sure he could meet the gaze of the countless strangers walking close by. But then Tony squeezed again and Clay looked up, meeting Tony’s happy and understanding eyes, and Clay felt the panic he was beginning to feel slowly dissipate like lingering rainclouds.

Because he didn’t have to worry about what the pedestrians around them thought, just like he didn’t have to worry about what the people in the theater thought. Nobody around them gave them a second glance, none of them batting an eye over their joined hands. Clay knew this was important for him, but also for Tony too, because there was a reason why Clay never realized Tony had been dating Ryan. In his past relationships PDA had been something Tony seemed to actively avoid, and Clay was starting to comprehend what a big thing this might be for him. Maybe his heart wasn’t pounding as fast, and his cheeks definitely couldn’t swirl with the deep red Clay knew his own were, but it meant something that Tony was sharing this public declaration with him. That he was comfortable with being open about what Clay meant to him.

Especially when he was never so open in the past.

And Clay wanted to be just as comfortable back. He wanted to hold Tony’s hand when they went through Liberty High’s doors in a month or so. Wanted to go to stupid dances with him and wrap his arms around him when they were in the halls, walking between classes. This was just the first step (or was it the third, the fifth?) and Clay wasn’t surprised to find himself grinning ear to ear, Tony’s answering dimples guiding lights as he led Clay around the corner to the awaiting Yogurtland.

Tony must be craving chocolate because his cup was filled almost to the top with the fudge flavor and sprinkled with brownie bites and off-brand peanut butter cups. Clay settled for the standard tart flavor and added a raspberry swirl, covering his in gummies and gelatinous ‘fruit’ his mother would gladly tut over. They were in and out in under five minutes, the air between them light and airy as they walked aimlessly back the way they came.

Clay couldn’t eat his fro-yo and hold Tony’s hand at the same time so they just walked in step with one another, their shoulders jostling both due to the narrowness of the sidewalk and the desire for contact. They talked and laughed and Clay was filled with a pleasant swooping of his stomach that thankfully wasn’t going away with the frozen yogurt. They switched cups and tried the other’s choice of flavors but ultimately switched back, their fingers brushing more than necessary.

Definitely not on purpose, nope, not at all.

Clay found himself constantly smiling the whole walk, whether it be small and reserved when he watched Tony talk or wide and aching after he finished laughing, and Clay wouldn’t have it any other way. Tony was in the same boat too, the subtle arc to his brows and the gentle lopsidedness of his grin lovingly seared into Clay’s brain forever, and Clay couldn’t help but think that this has been the best date he’s ever been on—even though technically it might be the  _only_  date he’s ever been on. He was glad they left halfway through the movie so they could be together like this, still slightly in awe that Tony was able to make him feel so centered and calm.

After the initial shock being openly in love was easy. Or maybe it was just easy with Tony.

They soon found themselves walking around Lake Merritt, the sun getting lower in the sky—hanging over the Oakland skyline and glimmering off the calm water of the lake. It was pleasantly warm and there were plenty of people out with their families and friends, cooking food on BBQs or lazing around on blankets under the sun and clear sky. Everyone appeared to be so relaxed and happy, the color of the grass and trees so vibrant it almost hurt his eyes, and Clay was reminded of the block parties his neighborhood used to throw when he was a kid. They were some of his best childhood memories, it was when Clay felt connected to the people around him, to his community. There wasn’t any of that solitude he felt later.

“You want to find a place to sit?” Tony asked once they threw away their empty cups, reaching out, an invitation for Clay to take his hand.

And how could he not? Their fingers slid together as he nodded, “Sure, that shady spot over there looks good.”

A barely-perceptible pleased expression rose across Tony’s face as he led them up the slight rise to the place Clay pointed out. The grass was dry but cool under the wide live oak fanning above them, but though the ground wasn’t damp Clay still felt weird about sitting on Tony’s jacket. It was really nice and he didn’t want to get it dirty, but Tony didn’t seem to mind so he didn’t say anything as he plopped down next to him, their hands tangling behind them as they propped themselves up.

He leaned into Tony’s side, their forearms rubbing past one another where they crossed behind them, passing off some of his weight to Tony as Tony did the same to him. There was a happy mumble from Tony and Clay smiled to himself as he looked out over the lake to the glass and metal of the buildings rising into the sky on the other side. There was a gentle breeze off the bay that swept through the trees, carrying the sounds of laughter from elsewhere in the park. Seagulls and little sparrows were jumping along the pavement lining the lake and two little kids were playing hide and seek around a nearby tree, their parents ever watchful from their blanket. Clay felt so at peace, calm and happy in a way he hasn’t fully experienced since the accident. He felt grounded to this place and against the man next to him, pleasantly cool in the shade.

Tony shifted slightly and Clay took his cue to readjust, laying down on his back and pillowing his head in Tony’s lap. He idly picked at the grass at the edge of Tony’s jacket, smiling up at Tony’s amused face, at the sun filtering through the leaves above them.

“Hi.”

Tony laughed. “Hi there.”

Clay examined the way little spots of light reformed and changed with the swaying leaves. “This has been a great date.”

Tony smiled. “Oh, really?”

“The best.”

“Yeah…” Tony says fondly, one hand coming up to stroke through Clay’s hair, fingers gently toying with his fringe, “I can’t think of a better one.”

Clay let out a little sigh, Tony smiling down at him but saying nothing, the silence saying everything.

 

** -~| END |~- **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's it, it's over! 
> 
> This has been my first completed multi-chapter fic and I'm really proud of it at this point, any comments or feedback are still greatly welcome! I have many notes I can share if anyone is interested (like how Evergreen is totally the canonical name for the town 13 Reasons Why is set in, due to 'Evergreen Police Department' being seen prominently when Clay makes his mom take him to the police), so just let me know and I'll share them. Now I'm looking forward to my next project! ;)
> 
> Speaking of, I have some general ideas for a sequel to this as well as multiple other standalone fics, so keep an eye out in the future!
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> -P
> 
>  
> 
> **EDIT: Just so everybody knows, I've gone back and edited the whole thing again, catching some mistakes and making the story flow smoother. Not much has changed but I think it works better! ******

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it! I would love to hear your thoughts.
> 
> Next week will be Chapter 2!


End file.
